THE    LITTLE    RED    FOOT 
ROBERT    W.     CHAMBERS 


THE 

LITTLE  RED  FOOT 


BY 

ROBERT  W.   CHAMBERS 

AUTHOR    OF  "THE   SLAYER    OF   SOULS,"  "THE   COMMON    LAW, 
"IN  SECRET,"  "LORRAINE,"   ETC. 


NEW  XSJT  YORK 
GEORGE   H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  1921, 
BY  ROBERT  W.  CHAMBERS 


COPYRIGHT,  1920,  1921.  BY  THE  INTERNATIONAL 
MAGAZINE  COMPANY 

.PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 


TO 

MY  SON 
ROBERT  H.  CHAMBERS 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAO» 

I  SIR  WILLIAM  PASSES     .......  11 

II  TWO  PEERS  SANS  PEERAGE 13 

III  THE  POT  BOILS        . 23 

IV  TWO  COUNTRY  MICE 32 

V  A  SUPPER 40 

VI  RUSTIC   GALLANTRY 51 

VII  BEFORE  THE  STORM 60 

VIII  SHEEP  AND  GOATS 68 

IX  STOLE  AWAY 81 

X  A  NIGHT  MARCH .  86 

XI  SUMMER    HOUSE    POINT 94 

XII  THE  SHAPE  IN  WHITE 102 

XIII  THE  DROWNED  LANDS 113 

XIV  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 124 

XV  WEST    RIVER 132 

XVI  A  TROUBLED  MIND 141 

XVII  DEEPER  TROUBLE 151 

XVIII  FIRELIGHT 169 

XIX  OUT  OF  THE  NORTH 177 

XX  IN  SHADOW-LAND     . 189 

XXI  THE  DEMON 197 

XXII  HAG-RIDDEN 207 

vii 


viii  CONTENTS 

CHAPTEB  PAOH 

XXIII  WINTER  AND  SPRING .  220 

XXIV  GREEN-COATS 235 

XXV     BURKE'S  TAVERN 253 

XXVI     ORDERS .  267 

XXVII     FIRE-FLIES 283 

XXVIII     OYANEH! .  292 

XXIX     THE  WOOD  OF  BRAKABEEN 309 

XXX     A  LONG  GOOD-BYE 322 

XXXI     "IN  THE  VALLEY" 333 

AFTERMATH  350 


THE    LITTLE    RED    FOOT 


THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 


CHAPTER  I 

SIB   WILLIAM   PASSES 

ri  THE  day  Sir  William  died  there  died  the  greatest  American 
M.  of  his  day.  Because,  on  that  midsummer  evening,  His 
Excellency  was  still  only  a  Virginia  gentleman  not  yet  famous, 
and  best  known  because  of  courage  and  sagacity  displayed  in 
that  bloody  business  of  Braddock. 

Indeed,  all  Americans  then  living,  and  who  since  have  become 
famous,  were  little  celebrated,  excepting  locally,  on  the  day  Sir 
William  Johnson  died.  Few  were  known  outside  a  single  prov- 
ince; scarcely  one  among  them  had  been  heard  of  abroad.  But 
Sir  William  was  a  world  figure;  a  great  constructive  genius; 
the  greatest  land-owner  in  North  America ;  a  wise  magistrate,  a 
victorious  soldier,  a  builder  of  cities  amid  a  wilderness;  a  re- 
deemer of  men. 

He  was  a  Baronet  of  the  British  Realm;  His  Majesty's  Super- 
intendent of  Indian  Affairs  for  all  North  America.  He  was  the 
only  living  white  man  implicitly  trusted  by  the  savages  of  this 
continent,  because  he  never  broke  his  word  to  them.  He  was, 
perhaps,  the  only  representative  of  royal  authority  in  the  Western 
Hemisphere  utterly  believed  in  by  the  dishonest,  tyrannical, 
and  stupid  pack  of  Royal  Governors,  Magistrates  and  lesser  vermin 
that  afflicted  the  colonies  with  the  British  plague. 

He  was  kind  and  great.  All  loved  him.  All  mourned  him. 
For  he  was  a  very  perfect  gentleman  who  practiced  truth  and 
honour  and  mercy;  an  unassuming  and  respectable  man  who 
loved  laughter  and  gaiety  and  plain  people. 

He  saw  the  conflict  coming  which  must  drench  the  land  in 
blood  and  dry  with  fire  the  blackened  cinders. 

Torn  betwixt  loyalty  to  his  King  whom  he  had  so  tirelessly 
served,  and  loyalty  to  his  country  which  he  so  passionately  loved, 

11 


12  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

it  has  been  said  that,   rather  than   choose  between   King   and 
Colony,  he  died  by  his  own  hand. 

But  those  who  knew  him  best  know  otherwise.  Sir  William 
died  of  a  broken  heart,  in  his  great  Hall  at  Johnstown,  all  alone. 

His  son,  Sir  John,  killed  a  fine  horse  riding  from  Fort  Johnson 
to  the  Hall.  And  arrived  too  late  and  all  of  a  lather  in  the 
starlight. 

And  I  have  never  ceased  marvelling  how  such  a  man  could 
have  been  the  son  of  the  great  Sir  William. 

At  the  Hall  the  numerous  household  was  all  in  a  turmoil; 
and,  besides  Sir  William's  immediate  family,  there  were  a  thou- 
sand guests — a  thousand  Iroquois  Indians  encamped  around  the 
Hall,  with  whom  Sir  William  had  been  holding  fire-council. 

For  he  had  determined  to  restrain  his  Mohawks,  and  to  main- 
tain tranquillity  among  all  the  fierce  warriors  of  the  Six  Nations, 
and  so  pledge  the  entire  Iroquois  Confederacy  to  an  absolute 
neutrality  in  the  imminence  of  this  war  betwixt  King  and  Col- 
ony, which  now  seemed  to  be  coming  so  rapidly  upon  us  that 
already  its  furnace  breath  was  heating  restless  savages  to  a  fever. 

All  that  hot  June  day,  though  physically  ill  and  mentally 
unhappy, — and  under  a  vertical  sun  and  with  head  uncovered, 
— Sir  William  had  spoken  to  the  Iroquois  with  belts. 

The  day's  labour  of  that  accursed  council-fire  ended  at  sun- 
set; sachem  and  chief  departed — tall  spectres  in  the  flaming  west; 
there  was  a  clash  of  steel  at  the  guard-house  as  the  guard  pre- 
sented arms;  Mr.  Duncan  saluted  the  Confederacy  with  lifted 
claymore. 

Then  an  old  man,  bareheaded,  alone,  turned  away  from  the 
covered  council-fire;  and  an  officer,  seeing  how  feebly  he  moved, 
flung  an  arm  about  his  shoulders. 

So  Sir  William  came  slowly  to  his  great  Hall,  and  slowly 
entered.  And  laid  him  down  in  his  library  on  a  sofa. 

And  slowly  died  there  while  the  sun  was  going  down. 

Then  the  first  star  came  out  where,  in  the  ashes  of  the  June 
sunset,  a  pale  rose  tint  still  lingered. 

But  Sir  William  lay  dead  in  his  great  Hall,  all  alone. 


CHAPTEE  H 

TWO   PEERS    SANS   PEERAGE 

SIR  JOHN  had  arrived  and  I  caught  sight  of  his  heavy,  ex- 
pressionless face,  which  seemed  more  colourless  than  ever 
in  the  candle  light. 

Consternation  reigned  in  the  Hall, — a  vast  tumult  of  whis- 
pering and  guarded  gabble  among  servants,  checked  by  sobs, — 
and  I  saw  officers  come  and  go,  and  the  tall  forms  of  Mohawks 
still  as  pines  on  a  summer  night. 

The  entire  household  was  there — all  excepting  only  Michael 
Cardigan  and  Felicity  Warren. 

The  two  score  farm  slaves  were  there  huddled  along  the  wall 
in  dusky  clusters,  and  their  great,  dark  eyes  wet  with  tears. 

I  saw  Sir  William's  lawyer,  Lafferty,  come  in  with  Flood,  the 
Baronet's  Bouw-Meester.* 

His  blacksmith,  his  tailor,  and  his  armourer  were  there;  also 
his  gardener;  the  German,  Frank,  his  butler;  Pontioch,  his  per- 
sonal waiter;  and  those  two  uncanny  and  stunted  servants,  the 
Bartholomews,  with  their  dead  white  faces  and  dwarfish  dignity. 

Also  I  saw  poor  Billy,  Sir  William's  fiddler,  gulping  down  the 
blubbers;  and  there  was  his  personal  physician,  Doctor  Daly, 
very  grave;  and  the  servile  Wall,  schoolmaster  to  Lady  Molly's 
brood;  and  I  saw  Nicolas,  his  valet,  and  black  Flora,  his  cook, 
both  sobbing  into  the  same  bandanna. 

The  dark  Lady  Johnson  was  there,  very  quiet  in  her  grief, 
slow-moving,  still  beautiful,  having  by  the  hands  the  two  young- 
est girls  and  boy,  while  near  her  clustered  the  older  children,  fat 
Peter  and  Betsy  and  pretty  Lana. 

A  great  multitude  of  candles  burned  throughout  the  hall;  Sir 
William's  silver  and  mahogany  sparkled  everywhere;  and  so  did 
the  naked  claymores  of  the  Highlanders  on  guard  where  the 
dead  man  lay  in  his  own  chamber,  done,  at  last,  with  all  per- 
plexity and  grief. 

In  the  morning  came  the  quality   in  scores — all   the  landed 
•  Farm  overseer. 

13 


14  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

gentry  of  Tryon  County,  Tory  and  Whig  alike,  to  show  their 
reverence: — old  Colonel  John  Butler  from  his  seat  at  Butlers- 
bury  near  Caughnawaga,  and  his  dark,  graceful  son  Walter, — 
he  of  the  melancholy  golden  eyes — an  attorney  then  and  sick 
of  a  wound  which,  some  said,  had  been  taken  in  a  duel  with 
Michael  Cardigan  near  Fort  Pitt. 

Colonel  Glaus  was  there,  too,  son-in-law  to  Sir  William,  and 
battered  much  by  frontier  battles:  and  Guy  Johnson,  a  cousin, 
and  a  son-in-law,  too,  had  come  from  his  fine  seat  at  Guy  Park 
to  look  upon  a  face  as  tranquil  in  death  as  a  sleeping  child's. 

The  McDonald,  of  damned  memory,  was  there  in  his  tartan 
and  kilts  and  bonnet;  and  the  Albany  Patroon,  very  modest;  and 
God  knows  how  many  others  from  far  and  near,  all  arrived  to 
honour  a  man  who  had  died  very  tired  in  the  service  of  our 
Lord,  who  knows  and  pardons  all. 

The  pretty  lady  of  Sir  John,  who  was  Polly  Watts  of  New 
York,  came  to  me  where  I  stood  in  the  noon  breeze  near  the 
lilacs;  and  I  kissed  her  hand,  and,  straightening  myself,  re- 
tained it,  looking  into  her  woeful  face  of  a  child,  all  marred 
with  tears. 

"I  had  not  thought  to  be  mistress  of  the  Hall  for  many  years," 
said  she,  her  lips  a-tremble.  "But  yesterday,  at  this  hour,  he  was 
living:  and,  today,  in  this  hour,  the  heavy  importunities  of 
strange  new  duties  are  already  crushing  me.  ...  I  count  on 
you,  Jack." 

I  made  no  answer. 

"May  we  not  count  on  you?"  she  said.  "Sir  John  and  I  ex- 
pect it." 

As  I  stood  silent  there  in  the  breezy  sunshine  by  the  porch, 
there  came  across  the  grass  Billy  Alexander,  who  is  Lord  Stir- 
ling, a  man  much  older  than  I,  but  who  seemed  young  enough; 
and  made  his  reverence  to  Lady  Johnson,  kissing  the  hand  which 
I  very  gently  released. 

"Oh,  Billy,"  says  she,  the  tears  starting  again,  "why  should 
death  take  him  at  such  a  time,  when  God's  wrath  darkens  all 
the  world?" 

"God's  convenience  is  not  always  ours,"  he  replied,  looking  at 
me  sideways,  with  a  certain  curiosity  which  I  understood  if 
Lady  Johnson  did  not. 

She  turned  and  gazed  out  across  the  sunny  grass  where,  be- 
yond the  hedge  fence,  the  primeval  forest  loomed  like  a  dark 
cloud  along  the  sky,  far  as  the  eye  could  see. 

"Well,"  says  she,  half  to  herself,  "the  storm  is  bound  to  break, 


TWO  PEERS  SANS  PEERAGE        15 

now.  And  we  women  of  County  Tryon  may  need  your  swords, 
gentlemen,  before  snow  flies." 

Lord  Stirling  stole  another  look  at  me.  He  knew  as  well  as 
I  how  loosely  in  their  scabbards  lay  our  two  swords.  He  knew, 
also,  as  well  as  I,  in  which  cause  would  flash  the  swords  of  the 
landed  gentry  of  County  Tryon.  And  he  knew,  too,  that  his 
blade  as  well  as  mine  must,  one  day,  be  unsheathed  against  them 
and  against  the  stupid  King  they  served. 

Something  of  this  Lady  Johnson  had  long  since  suspected,  I 
think;  but  Billy  Alexander,  for  all  his  years,  was  a  childhood 
friend;  and  I,  too,  a  friend,  although  more  recent. 

She  looked  at  my  Lord  Stirling  with  that  troubled  sweetness 
I  have  seen  so  often  in  her  face,  alas!  and  she  said  in  a  low 
voice : 

"It  would  be  unthinkable  that  Lord  Stirling's  sword  could 
lay  a-rusting  when  the  Boston  rabble  break  clear  out  o'  bounds." 

She  turned  to  me,  touched  my  arm  confidingly,  child  that  she 
seemed  and  was,  God  help  her. 

"A  Stormont,"  she  said,  "should  never  entertain  any  doubts. 
And  so  I  count  on  you,  Lord  Stormont,  as  I  count  upon  my 
Lord  Stirling " 

"I  am  not  Lord  Stormont,"  said  I,  striving  to  force  a  smile 
at  the  old  and  tiresome  contention.  "Lord  Stormont  is  the 
King's  Ambassador  in  Paris — if  it  please  you  to  recollect " 

"You  are  as  surely  Yiscount  Stormont  as  is  Billy  Alexander, 
here,  Lord  Stirling — and  as  I  am  Lady  Johnson,"  she  said  ear- 
nestly. "What  do  you  care  if  your  titles  be  disputed  by  a 
doddering  committee  on  privileges  in  the  House  of  Lords  ?  What 
difference  does  it  make  if  usurpers  wear  your  honours  as  long 
as  you  know  these  same  stolen  titles  are  your  own?" 

"A  pair  o'  peers  sans  peerage,"  quoth  Billy  Alexander,  with 
that  boyish  grin  I  loved  to  see. 

"I  care  nothing,"  said  I,  still  smiling,  "but  Billy  Alexander 
does — pardon! — my  Lord  Stirling,  I  should  say." 

Said  he:  "Sure  I  am  Lord  Stirling  and  no  one  else;  and  shall 
wear  my  title  however  they  dispute  it  who  deny  me  my  proper 
seat  in  their  rotten  House  of  Lords!" 

<JI  think  you  are  very  surely  the  true  Lord  Stirling,"  said  I, 
"but  I,  on  the  other  hand,  most  certainly  am  not  a  Stormont 
Murray.  My  name  is  John  Drogue;  and  if  I  be  truly  also  Vis- 
count Stormont,  it  troubles  me  not  at  all,  for  my  ambition  is 
to  be  only  American  and  to  let  the  Stormonts  glitter  as  they 
please  and  where." 


16  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

Lady  Johnson  came  close  to  me  and  laid  both  hands  upon 
my  shoulders. 

"Jack,"  she  pleaded,  "be  true  to  us.  Be  true  to  your  gentle 
blood.  Be  true  to  your  proper  caste.  God  knows  the  King  will 
have  a  very  instant  need  of  his  gentlemen  in  America  before 
we  three  see  another  summer  here  in  County  Tryon." 

I  made  no  reply.  What  could  I  say  to  her?  And,  indeed,  the 
matter  of  the  Stormont  Viscounty  was  distasteful,  stale,  and 
wearisome  to  me,  and  I  cared  absolutely  nothing  about  it,  though 
the  landed  gentry  of  Tryon  were  ever  at  pains  to  place  me  where 
I  belonged, — if  some  were  right, — and  where  I  did  not  belong  if 
others  were  righter  still. 

For  Lady  Johnson,  like  many  of  her  caste,  believed  that  the 
second  Viscount  Stormont  died  without  issue, — which  was  true, 
— and  that  the  third  Viscount  had  a  son, — which  is  debatable. 

At  any  rate,  David  Murray  became  the  fourth  Viscount,  and 
the  claims  of  my  remote  ancestor  went  a-glimmering  for  so 
many  years  that,  in  1705,  we  resumed  our  family  name  of  the 
Northesks,  which  is  Drogue;  and  in  this  natural  manner  it 
became  my  proper  name.  God  knows  I  found  it  good  enough  to 
eat  and  sleep  with,  so  that  my  Lord  Stormont's  capers  in  Paris 
never  disturbed  my  dreams.  Thank  Heaven  for  that,  too;  and 
it  was  a  sad  day  for  my  Lord  Stormont  when  he  tried  to  bully 
Benjamin  Franklin;  for  the  whole  world  is  not  yet  done  a-laugh- 
ing  at  him. 

No,  I  have  no  desire  to  claim  a  Viscounty  which  our  witty 
Franklin  has  made  ridiculous  with  a  single  shaft  of  satire  from 
his  bristling  repertoire. 

Thinking  now  of  this,  and  reddening  a  little  at  the  thought, 
— for  no  Stormont  even  of  remotest  kinship  to  the  family  can 
truly  relish  Mr.  Franklin's  sauce,  though  it  dressed  an  undoubted 
goose, — I  become  far  more  than  reconciled  to  the  decision  ren- 
dered in  the  House  of  Lords. 

Two  people  who  had  come  from  the  house,  and  who  were  ad- 
vancing slowly  toward  us  across  the  clipped  grass,  now  engaged 
our  full  attention. 

The  one  we  perceived  to  be  Sir  John  Johnson  himself:  the 
other  his  lady's  school  friend  and  intimate  companion,  Claudia 
Swift,  the  toast  of  the  British  Army  and  of  all  respectable  young 
Tories;  and  the  "Sacharissa"  of  those  verses  made  by  the  new 
and  lively  Adjutant  General,  Major  Andre,  who  was  then  a 
captain. 


TWO  PEEKS  SANS  PEERAGE        17 

For,  though  very  young,  our  lovely  Sacharissa  had  murdered 
many  a  gallant's  peace  of  mind,  leaving  a  trail  of  hearts  bled 
white  from  New  York  to  Boston,  and  from  that  afflicted  city  to 
Albany;  where,  it  was  whispered,  her  bright  and  merciless  eyes 
had  made  the  sad  young  Patroon  much  sadder,  and  his  offered 
manor  a  more  melancholy  abode  than  usual. 

She  gave  us,  now,  her  dimpled  hand  to  kiss.  And,  to  Lady 
Johnson:  "My  dear,"  she  said  very  tenderly,  "how  pale  you 
seem!  God  sends  us  affliction  as  a  precious  gift  and  we  must 
accept  it  with  meekness,"  letting  her  eyes  rest  absently  the  while 
on  Lord  Stirling,  and  then  on  me. 

Our  Sacharissa  might  babble  of  meekness  if  she  chose,  but 
that  virtue  was  not  lodged  within  her,  God  knows, — nor  many 
other  virtues  either. 

Billy  Alexander,  old  enough  to  be  her  parent,  nevertheless 
had  been  her  victim;  and  I  also.  It  was  our  opinion  that  we 
had  recovered.  But,  to  be  honest  with  myself,  I  could  not  avoid 
admitting  that  I  had  been  very  desperate  sick  o'  love,  and  that 

even  yet,  at  times But  no  matter:  others,  stricken  as  deep 

as  I,  know  well  that  Claudia  Swift  was  not  a  maid  that  any 
man  might  easily  forget,  or,  indeed,  dismiss  at  will  from  his 
mind  as  long  as  she  remained  in  his  vicinity. 

"Are  you  well,  Billy,  since  we  last  met?"  she  asked  Lord 
Stirling  in  that  sweet,  hesitating  way  of  hers.  And  to  me: 
"You  have  grown  thin,  Jack.  Have  you  been  in  health?" 

I  said  that  I  had  been  monstrous  busy  with  my  new  glebe  in 
the  Sacandaga  patent,  and  had  swung  an  axe  there  with  the  best 
o'  them  until  an  express  from  Sir  William  summoned  me  to  re- 
turn to  aid  him  with  the  Iroquois  at  the  council-fire.  At  which 
explaining  of  my  silence  the  jade  smiled. 

When  I  mentioned  the  Sacandaga  patent  and  the  glebe  I  had 
had  of  Sir  William  on  too  generous  terms — he  making  all  ar- 
rangements with  Major  Jelles  Fonda  through  Mr.  Lafferty — 
Sir  John,  who  had  been  standing  silent  beside  us,  looked  up  at 
me  in  that  cold  and  stealthy  way  of  his. 

"Do  you  mean  your  parcel  at  Fonda's  Bush?"  he  inquired. 

"Yes;  I  am  clearing  it." 

"Why?" 

"So  that  my  land  shall  grow  Indian  corn,  pardie!" 

tfWlay  clear  it  now?"  he  persisted  in  his  deadened  voice. 

I  could  have  answered  very  naturally  that  the  land  was  of  no 
value  to  anybody  unless  cleared  of  forest.  But  of  course  he 
knew  this,  too;  so  I  did  not  evade  the  slyer  intent  of  his  question. 


18 

"I  am  clearing  my  land  at  Fonda's  Bush,"  said  I,  "because, 
God  willing,  I  mean  to  occupy  it  in  proper  person." 

"And  when,  sir,  is  it  your  design  to  do  this  thing?" 

"Do  what,  sir?     Clear  my  glebe?" 

"Remove  thither — in  proper  person,,  Mr.  Drogue?" 

"As  soon  as  may  be,  Sir  John." 

At  that  Lady  Johnson  gave  me  a  quick  look  and  Claudia  said: 
"What!  Would  you  bury  yourself  alive  in  that  wilderness,  Jack 
Drogue?" 

I  smiled.  "But  I  must  hew  out  for  myself  a  career  in  the 
world  some  day,  Sacharissa.  So  why  not  begin  now?" 

"Then  in  Heaven's  name,"  she  exclaimed  impatiently,  "go 
somewhere  among  men  and  not  among  the  wild  beasts  of  the 
forest!  Why,  a  young  man  is  like  to  perish  of  loneliness  in 
such  a  spot;  is  he  not,  Sir  John?" 

Sir  John's  inscrutable  gaze  remained  fixed  on  me. 

"In  such  times  as  these,"  said  he,  "it  is  better  that  men  like 
ourselves  continue  to  live  together.  ...  To  await  events.  .  .  . 
And  master  them.  .  .  .  And  afterward,  each  to  his  vocation  and 
his  own  tastes.  ...  It  is  my  desire  that  you  remain  at  the  Hall," 
he  added,  looking  steadily  at  me. 

"I  must  decline,  Sir  John." 

"Why?" 

"I  have  already  told  you  why." 

"If  your  present  position  is  irksome  to  you,"  he  said,  "you 
have  merely  to  name  a  deputy  and  feel  entirely  at  liberty  to 
pursue  your  pleasure.  Or — you  are  at  least  the  Laird  of  Northesk 
if  you  are  nothing  greater.  There  is  a  commission  in  my  High- 
landers— if  you  desire  it.  ...  And  your  salary,  of  course,  con- 
tinues also." 

He  looked  hard  at  me :  "Augmented  by — half,"  he  added  in  his 
slow,  cold  voice.  "And  this,  with  your  income,  should  properly 
maintain  a  young  man  of  your  age  and  quality." 

I  had  been  Brent-Meester  to  Sir  William,  for  lack  of  other  em- 
ployment; and  had  been  glad  to  take  the  important  office,  loving 
as  I  do  the  open  air.  Also  the  addition  of  a  salary  to  my  slender 
means  had  been  acceptable.  But  it  was  one  matter  to  serve  Sir 
William  as  Brent-Meester,  and  another  to  serve  Sir  John  in  any 
capacity  whatsoever.  And  as  for  the  remainder  of  the  family, — 
Guy  Johnson  and  Colonel  Glaus — and  their  intimates  the  Butlers, 
I  had  now  had  more  than  enough  of  them,  having  endured  these 
uncongenial  people  only  because  I  had  loved  Sir  William.  Yet, 


TWO  PEERS  SANS  PEERAGE        19 

for  his  father's  sake,  I  now  spoke  to  Sir  John  politely,  using  him 
most  kindly  because  I  both  liked  and  pitied  his  lady,  too. 

Said  I :  "My  desire  is  to  become  a  Tryon  County  farmer,  Sir 
John;  and  to  that  end  I  happily  became  possessed  of  the  parcel 
at  Fonda's  Bush.  For  that  reason  I  am  clearing  it.  And  so  I 
must  beg  of  you  to  accept  my  resignation  as  Brent- Meester  at 
the  Hall,  for  I  mean  to  start  as  soon  as  convenient  to  occupy  my 
glebe." 

There  was  a  silence;  Sacharissa  gazed  at  me  in  pity,  astonish- 
ment, and  unfeigned  horror;  Lady  Johnson  gave  me  an  odd,  un- 
happy look;  and  Billy  Alexander  a  meaning  one,  half  grin. 

Then  Sir  John's  slow  and  heavy  voice  invaded  the  momentary 
silence :  "As  my  father's  Brent-Meester,  only  an  Indian  or  a  Forest 
Runner  knows  the  wilderness  as  do  you.  And  we  shall  have  great 
need  of  such  forest  knowledge  as  you  possess,  Mr.  Drogue." 

I  think  we  all  understood  the  Baronet's  meaning. 

I  considered  a  moment,  then  replied  very  quietly  that  in  time 
of  stress  no  just  cause  would  find  me  skulking  to  avoid  duty. 

I  think  my  manner  and  tone,  as  well  as  what  I  said,  combined 
to  stop  Sir  John's  mouth.  For  nobody  could  question  such  re- 
spectable sentiments  unless,  indeed,  a  quarrel  was  meant. 

But  Sir  John  Johnson,  in  his  way,  was  as  slow  to  mortal  quarrel 
as  was  I  in  mine.  And  whatever  suspicion  of  me  he  might  nurse 
in  his  secret  mind  he  now  made  no  outward  sign  of  it. 

Also,  other  people  were  coming  across  the  grass  to  join  us;  and 
presently  grave  greetings  were  exchanged  in  sober  voices  suitable 
to  the  occasion  when  a  considerable  company  of  ladies  and  gentle- 
men are  gathered  at  a  house  of  mourning. 

Turning  away,  I  noticed  Mr.  Duncan  and  the  Highland  officers 
at  the  magazine,  all  wearing  their  black  badges  of  respect  and  a 
knot  of  crape  on  the  basket-hilts  of  their  claymores;  and  young 
Walter  Butler,  still  stiff  in  his  bandages,  gazing  up  at  the  June 
sky  out  of  melancholy  eyes,  like  a  damned  man  striving  to  see 
God. 

Sir  John  had  now  given  his  arm  to  his  lady.  His  left  hand 
rested  on  his  sword-hilt — the  same  left  hand  he  had  offered  to  poor 
Claire  Putnam — and  to  which  the  child  still  clung,  they  said. 

Claudia  turned  from  Billy  Alexander  and  came  toward  me.  Her 
face  was  serious,  but  I  saw  the  devil  looking  out  of  her  blue  eyes. 

Nature  had  given  this  maid  most  lovely  proportions — that  charm- 
ing slenderness  which  is  plumply  moulded — and  she  stood  straight, 
and  tall  enough,  too,  to  meet  on  a  level  the  love-sick  gaze  of  any 
stout  young  man  she  had  bedevilled ;  and  she  wore  a  most  bewitch- 


20  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

ing  countenance — short-nosed,  red-lipped,  a  skin  as  white  as  a 
water-lily,  and  thick  soft  hair  as  black  as  night,  which  she  wore 
unpowdered — the  dangerous  jade! 

"Jack,"  says  she  in  honeyed  tones,  "are  you  truly  designing  to 
become  a  hermit?" 

"Oh,  no,"  said  I,  smilingly,  "only  a  farmer,  Claudia." 

"Why?" 

"Because  I  am  a  poor  man  and  must  feed  and  clothe  myself." 

"There  is  a  commission  from  Sir  John  in  the  Scotch  regi- 
ment  " 

"I'm  Scotch  enough  without  that,"  said  I. 

"Jack?" 

"Yes,  Madam?" 

"Are  you  a  little  angry  with  me?" 

"No,"  said  I,  feeling  uncomfortable  and  concluding  to  beware 
of  her,  for  she  stood  now  close  to  me,  and  the  scent  of  her  warm 
breath  troubled  me. 

"Why  are  you  angry  with  me,  Jack?"  she  asked  sorrowfully. 
And  took  one  step  nearer. 

"I  am  not,"  said  I. 

"Am — am  I  driving  you  into  the  wilderness  ?"  she  inquired. 

"That,  also,  is  absurd,"  I  replied  impatiently.  "No  woman  could 
ever  boast  of  driving  me,  though  some  may  once  have  led  me." 

"Oh;  I  feared  that  I  had  sapped,  perhaps,  your  faith  in  women, 
John." 

I  forced  a  laugh :  "Why,  Claudia  ?  Because  I  lately — and  vainly 
— was  enamoured  of  you  ?" 

"Lately?" 

"Yes.    I  did  love  you,  once." 

"Did  love?"  she  breathed.  "Do  you  not  love  me  any  more, 
Jack?" 

"I  think  not,"  said  I,  very  cheerfully. 

"And  why  ?    Sure  I  used  you  kindly,  Jack.    Did  I  not  so  ?" 

"You  conducted  as  is  the  privilege  of  maid  with  man,  Sacha- 
rissa,"  said  I  uneasily.  "And  that  is  all  I  have  to  say." 

"How  so  did  I  conduct,  Jack?" 

"Sweetly — to  my  undoing." 

"Try  me  again,"  she  said,  looking  up  at  me,  and  the  devil  in  her 
eyes. 

But  already  I  was  becoming  sensible  of  the  ever-living  enchant- 
ment of  this  young  thing,  so  wise  in  stratagems  and  spoils  of 
Love,  and  I  chose  to  leave  my  scalp  hang  drying  at  her  lodge  door 
beside  the  scanter  pol  of  Billy  Alexander. 


TWO  PEERS  SANS  PEERAGE        21 

For  God  knows  this  vixen-virgin  spared  neither  young  nor  old, 
but  shot  them  through  and  through  at  sight  with  those  heavenly 
darts  from  her  twin  eyes. 

And  no  man,  so  far,  could  boast  of  obtaining  from  Mistress 
Swift  the  least  token  or  any  serious  guerdon  that  his  quest  might 
lead  him  by  a  single  step  toward  Hymen's  altar,  but  only  to  that 
cruel  arena  where  all  her  victims  agonized  under  the  mocking 
sweetness  of  her  smile,  and  her  pretty,  down-turned  and  merciless 
thumbs — the  little  Vestal  villain! 

"No,  Claudia,"  quoth  I,  "yon  have  taken  my  bow  and  spear,  and 
shorn  me  of  my  thatch  like  any  Mohawk.  No;  I  go  to  Fonda's 

Bush "  I  smiled,  " — to  heal,  perhaps,  my  heart,  as  you  say; 

but,  anyhow,  to  consult  my  soul,  and  armour  it  in  a  wilderness," 

"A  hermit!"  she  exclaimed  scornfully,  " — and  afeard  of  a  maid 
armed  only  with  two  matched  eyes,  a  nose,  a  mouth  and  thirty 
teeth!" 

"Afeard  of  a  monster  more  frightful  than  that,"  said  I,  laughing. 

"Of  what  monster,  John  Drogue?" 

"Of  that  red  monster  that  is  surely,  surely  creeping  northward 
to  surprise  and  rend  us  all,"  said  I  in  a  low  voice.  "And  so  I  shall 
retire  to  question  my  secret  soul,  and  arm  it  cap-a-pie  as  God 
directs." 

She  was  looking  at  me  intently.    After  a  silence  she  said: 

"I  do  love  you;  and  Billy  Alexander;  and  all  gay  and  brave 
young  men  whose  unstained  swords  hedge  the  women  of  County 
Tryon  from  this  same  red  monster  that  you  mention."  And 
watched  me  to  see  how  I  swallowed  this. 

I  said  warily:  "Surely,  Claudia,  all  women  command  our 
swords  ...  no  matter  which  cause  we  espouse." 

"Jack!" 

"I  hear  you,  Claudia." 

But,  "Oh,  my  God!"  she  breathed;  and  put  her  hands  to  her 
face.  A  moment  she  stood  so,  then,  eyes  still  covered  by  one  hand, 
extended  the  other  to  me.  I  kissed  it  lightly;  then  kissed  it  again. 

"Do  you  leave  us,  Jack?" 

I  understood. 

"It  is  you  who  leave  me,  Claudia." 

She,  too,  understood.  It  was  my  first  confession  that  all  was  not 
right  betwixt  my  conscience  and  my  King.  For  that  was  the  only 
thing  I  was  certain  about  concerning  her:  she  never  betrayed  a 
confidence,  whatever  else  she  did.  And  so  I  made  plain  to  her 
where  my  heart  and  honour  lay — not  with  the  King's  men  in  this 
coming  struggle — but  with  my  own  people. 


22  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

I  think  she  knew,  too,  that  I  had  never  before  confessed  as  much 
to  any  living  soul,  for  she  took  her  other  hand  from  her  eyes  and 
looked  at  me  as  though  something  had  happened  in  which  she 
took  a  sorrowful  pride. 

Then  I  kissed  her  hand  for  the  third  time,  and  let  it  free.  And, 
going : 

"God  be  with  you,"  she  said  with  a  slight  smile;  "you  are  my 
dear  friend,  John  Drogue." 

At  the  Hall  porch  she  turned,  the  mischief  glimmering  in  her 
eyes :  " — And  so  is  Billy  Alexander,"  quoth  she. 

So  she  went  into  the  darkened  Hall. 

It  was  many  months  before  I  saw  our  Sacharissa  again — not 
until  Major  Andre  had  made  many  another  verse  for  many  another 
inamorata,  and  his  soldier-actors  had  played  more  than  one  of 
his  farces  in  besieged  Boston  to  the  loud  orchestra  of  His  Ex- 
cellency's rebel  cannon. 


CHAPTEE  HI 

THE   POT  BOILS 

SIR  WILLIAM  died  on  the  24th  of  June  in  the  year  1774; 
which  was  the  twentieth  year  of  my  life. 

On  the  day  after  he  was  buried  in  Saint  John's  Church  in 
Johnstown,  which  he  had  built,  I  left  the  Hall  for  Fonda's  Bush, 
which  was  a  wilderness  and  which  lay  some  nine  miles  distant  in 
the  Mohawk  country,  along  the  little  river  called  Kenny etto. 

I  speak  of  Fonda's  Bush  as  a  wilderness ;  but  it  was  not  entirely 
so,  because  already  old  Henry  Stoner,  the  trapper  who  wore  two 
gold  rings  in  his  ears,  had  built  him  a  house  near  the  Kennyetto 
and  had  taken  up  his  abode  there  with  his  stalwart  and  handsome 
sons,  Nicholas  and  John,  and  a  little  daughter,  Barbara. 

Besides  this  family,  who  were  the  pioneers  in  that  vast  forest 
where  the  three  patents  *  met,  others  now  began  settling  upon  the 
pretty  little  river  in  the  wilderness,  which  made  a  thousand  and 
most  amazing  windings  through  the  Bush  of  Major  Fonda. 

There  came,  now,  to  the  Kennyetto,  the  family  of  one  De 
Silver;  also  the  numerous  families  of  John  Homan,  and  Elias 
Cady;  then  the  Salisburys,  Putnams,  Bowmans,  and  Helmers  ar- 
rived. And  Benjamin  De  Luysnes  followed  with  Joseph  Scott 
where  the  Frenchman,  De  Golyer,  had  built  a  house  and  a  mill 
on  the  trout  brook  north  of  us.  There  was  also  a  dour  Scotchman 
come  thither — a  grim  and  decent  man  with  long,  thin  shanks  under 
his  kilts,  who  roved  the  Bush  like  a  weird  and  presently  went  away 
again. 

But  before  he  took  himself  elsewhere  he  marked  some  gigantic 
trees  with  his  axe  and  tied  a  rag  of  tartan  to  a  branch. 

And,  "Fonda's  Bush  is  no  name,"  quoth  he.  "Where  a  Mclntyre 
sets  his  mark  he  returns  to  set  his  foot.  And  where  he  sets  foot 
shall  be  called  Broadalbin,  or  I  am  a  great  liar!" 

And  he  went  away,  God  knows  where.  But  what  he  said  has 
become  true ;  for  when  again  he  set  his  foot  among  the  dead  ashes 
of  Fonda's  Bush,  it  became  Broadalbin.  And  the  clans  came  with 

*  The  Three  Patents  were  Sacandaga,  Kayaderosseras,  and  Stones. 

23 


24  THE  LITTLE  BED  FOOT 

him,  too;  and  they  peppered  the  wilderness  with  their  Scottish 
names, — Perth,  Galway,  Scotch  Bush,  Scotch  Church,  Broadalbin, 
— but  my  memory  runs  too  fast,  like  a  young  hound  giving  tongue 
where  the  scent  grows  hotter! — for  the  quarry  is  not  yet  in  sight, 
nor  like  to  be  for  many  a  bloody  day,  alas ! 

There  was  a  forest  road  to  the  Bush,  passable  for  waggons,  and 
used  sometimes  by  Sir  William  when  he  went  a-fishing  in  the 
Kennyetto. 

It  was  by  this  road  I  travelled  thither,  well-horsed,  and  had 
borrowed  the  farm  oxen  to  carry  all  my  worldly  goods. 

I  had  clothing,  a  clock,  some  books,  bedding  of  my  own,  and 
sufficient  pewter. 

I  had  my  own  rifle,  a  fowling  piece,  two  pistols,  and  sufficient 
ammunition. 

And  with  these,  and,  as  I  say,  well  horsed,  I  rode  out  of  Johns- 
town on  a  June  morning,  all  alone,  my  heart  still  heavy  with 
grief  for  Sir  William,  and  deeply  troubled  for  my  country. 

For  the  provinces,  now,  were  slowly  kindling,  warmed  with  those 
pure  flames  that  purge  the  human  soul;  and  already  the  fixe  had 
caught  and  was  burning  fiercely  in  Massachusetts  Bay,  where 
John  Hancock  fed  the  flames,  daintily,  cleverly,  with  all  the  cir- 
cumstance, impudence,  and  grace  of  your  veritable  macaroni  who 
will  not  let  an  inferior  outdo  him  in  a  bow,  but  who  is  sometimes 
insolent  to  kings. 

Well,  I  was  for  the  forest,  now,  to  wrest  from  a  sunless  land  a 
mouthful  o'  corn  to  stop  the  stomach's  mutiny. 

And  if  the  Northland  caught  fire  some  day — well,  I  was  as  in- 
flammable as  the  next  man,  who  will  not  suffer  violation  of  house 
or  land  or  honour. 

As  Brent-Meester  to  Sir  William,  my  duties  took  me  every- 
where. I  knew  old  man  Stoner,  and  Nick  had  become  already  my 
warm  friend,  though  I  was  now  a  grown  man  of  more  than  twenty 
and  he  still  of  boy's  age.  Yet,  in  many  ways,  he  seemed  more 
mature  than  I. 

I  think  Nick  Stoner  was  the  most  mischievous  lad  I  ever  knew — 
and  admired.  He  sometimes  said  the  same  of  me,  though  I  was 
not,  I  think,  by  nature,  designed  for  a  scapegrace.  However,  two 
years  in  the  wilderness  will  undermine  the  grace  of  saint  or  sinner 
in  some  degree.  And  if,  when  during  those  two  hard  years  I 
went  to  Johnstown  for  a  breath  of  civilization — or  to  Schenectady, 


THE  POT  BOILS  25 

or,  rarely,  to  Albany — I  frequented  a  few  good  taverns,  there  was 
little  harm  done,  and  nothing  malicious. 

True,  disputes  with  Tories  sometimes  led  to  blows,  and  mayhap 
some  Albany  watchman's  Dutch  noddle  needed  vinegar  to  soothe 
the  flamms  drummed  upon  it  by  a  stout  stick  or  ramrod  resembling 
mine. 

True,  the  humming  ale  at  the  Admiral  Warren  Tavern  may 
sometimes  have  made  my  own  young  noddle  hum,  and  Nick 
Stoner's,  too;  but  there  came  no  harm  of  it,  unless  there  be  harm 
in  bussing  a  fresh  and  rosy  wench  or  two;  or  singing  loudly  in 
the  tap-room  and  timing  each  catch  to  the  hammering  of  our 
empty  leather  jacks  on  long  hickory  tables  wet  with  malt. 

But  why  so  sad,  brother  Broadbrim  ?  Youth  is  not  to  be  denied. 
No !  And  youth  that  sets  its  sinews  against  an  iron  wilderness  to 
conquer  it, — youth  that  wields  its  puny  axe  against  giant  trees, — 
youth  that  pulls  with  the  oxen  to  uproot  enormous  stumps  so  that 
when  the  sun  is  let  in  there  will  be  a  soil  to  grow  corn  enough  to 
defy  starvation, — youth  that  toils  from  sun-up  to  dark,  hewing, 
burning,  sawing,  delving,  plowing,  harrowing  day  after  day,  month 
after  month,  pausing  only  to  kill  the  wild  meat  craved  or  snatch 
a  fish  from  some  forest  fount, — such  youth  cannot  be  decently 
denied,  brother  Broadbrim! 

But  if  Nick  and  I  were  truly  as  graceless  as  some  stiff-necked 
folk  pretended,  always  there  was  laughter  in  our  scrapes,  even 
when  hot  blood  boiled  at  the  Admiral  Warren,  and  Tory  and  Rebel 
drummed  one  another's  hides  to  the  outrage  of  law  and  order  and 
the  mortification  of  His  Majesty's  magistrates  in  County  Try  on. 

Even  in  Fonda's  Bush  the  universal  fire  had  begun  to  smoulder; 
the  names  Rebel  and  Tory  were  whispered;  the  families  of  Philip 
Helmer  and  Elias  Cady  talked  very  loudly  of  the  King  and  of  Sir 
John,  and  how  a  hempen  rope  was  the  fittest  cravat  for  such  Bos- 
ton men  as  bragged  too  freely. 

But  what  most  of  all  was  in  my  thoughts,  as  I  swung  my  axe 
there  in  the  immemorial  twilight  of  the  woods,  concerned  the 
Indians  of  the  great  Iroquois  Confederacy. 

What  would  these  savages  do  when  the  storm  broke?  What 
would  happen  to  this  frontier  ?  What  would  happen  to  the  solitary 
settlers,  to  such  hamlets  as  Fonda's  Bush,  to  Johnstown,  to 
Schenectady — nay,  to  Albany  itself? 

Sir  William  was  no  more.  Guy  Johnson  had  become  his 
Majesty's  Superintendent  for  Indian  affairs.  He  was  most  vio- 
lently a  King's  man — a  member  of  the  most  important  family  in 


26  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

all  the  Northland,  and  master  of  six  separate  nations  of  savages, 
which  formed  the  Iroquois  Confederacy. 

What  would  Guy  Johnson  do  with  the  warriors  of  these  six 
nations  that  bordered  our  New  York  frontier? 

Always  these  questions  were  seething  in  my  mind  as  I  swung  my 
axe  or  plowed  or  harrowed.  I  thought  about  them  as  I  sat  at 
eventide  by  the  door  of  my  new  log  house.  I  considered  them  as 
I  lay  abed,  watching  the  moonlight  crawl  across  the  puncheon 
floor. 

As  Brent-Meester  to  Sir  William,  I  knew  Indians,  and  how  to 
conduct  when  I  encountered  them  in  the  forest,  in  their  own 
castles,  or  when  they  visited  the  Hall. 

I  had  no  love  for  them  and  no  dislike,  but  treated  them  always 
with  the  consideration  due  from  one  white  man  to  another. 

I  was  not  conscious  of  making  any  friends  among  them,  nor  of 
making  any  enemies  either.  To  me  they  were  a  natural  part  of 
the  wilderness,  like  the  trees,  rivers,  hills,  and  wild  game,  belong- 
ing there  and  not  wantonly  to  be  molested. 

Others  thought  differently;  trappers,  forest  runners,  coureurs- 
du-bois  often  hated  them,  and  lost  no  opportunity  to  display  their 
animosity  or  to  do  them  a  harm. 

But  it  was  not  in  me  to  feel  that  way  toward  any  living  creature 
whom  God  had  fashioned  in  His  own  image  if  not  in  His  own 
colour.  And  who  is  so  sure,  even  concerning  the  complexion  of 
the  Most  High? 

Also,  Sir  William's  kindly  example  affected  my  sentiments 
toward  these  red  men  of  the  forest.  I  learned  enough  of  their 
language  to  suit  my  requirements;  I  was  courteous  to  their  men, 
young  and  old ;  and  considerate  toward  their  women.  Otherwise,  I 
remained  indifferent. 

Now,  during  these  first  two  years  of  my  life  in  Fonda's  Bush, 
events  in  the  outer  world  were  piling  higher  than  those  black 
thunder-clouds  that  roll  up  behind  the  Mayfield  hills  and  climb 
toward  mid-heaven.  Already  the  dull  glare  of  lightning  lit  them 
redly,  though  the  thunder  was,  as  yet,  inaudible. 

In  April  of  my  first  year  in  Fonda's  Bush  a  runner  came  to  the 
Kennyetto  with  the  news  of  Lexington,  and  carried  it  up  and  down 
the  wilderness  from  the  great  Vlaie  and  Maxon  Ridge  to  French- 
man's Creek  and  Fonda's  Bush. 

This  news  came  to  us  just  as  we  learned  that  our  Continental 
Congress  was  about  to  reassemble;  and  it  left  our  settlement  very 


THE  POT  BOILS  27 

still  and  sober,  and  a  loaded  rifle  within  reach  of  every  man  who 
went  grimly  about  his  spring  plowing. 

But  the  news  of  open  rebellion  in  Massachusetts  Bay  madded 
our  Tory  gentry  of  County  Tryon;  and  they  became  further  so 
enraged  when  the  Continental  Congress  met  that  they  contrived 
a  counter  demonstration,  and,  indeed,  seized  upon  a  pretty  oppor- 
tunity to  carry  it  with  a  high  hand. 

For  there  was  a  Court  holden  in  Johnstown,  and  a  great  con- 
course of  Tryon  loyalists;  and  our  Tory  hatch-mischiefs  did  by 
arts  and  guile  and  persuasions  obtain  signatures  from  the  majority 
of  the  G.rand  Jurors  and  the  County  Magistracy. 

Which,  when  known  and  flaunted  in  the  faces  of  the  plainer 
folk  of  Tryon  County,  presently  produced  in  all  that  slow,  deep 
anger  with  which  it  is  not  well  to  trifle — neither  safe  for  kings 
nor  lesser  fry. 

In  the  five  districts,  committees  were  appointed  to  discuss  what 
was  to  be  the  attitude  of  our  own  people  and  to  erect  a  liberty  pole 
in  every  hamlet. 

The  Mohawk  district  began  this  business,  which,  I  think,  was 
truly  the  beginning  of  the  Revolution  in  the  great  Province  of 
New  York.  The  Canajoharie  district,  the  Palatine,  the  Flatts, 
the  Kingsland  followed. 

And,  at  the  Mohawk  district  meeting,  who  should  arrive  but  Sir 
John,  unannounced,  uninvited;  and  with  him  the  entire  company 
of  Tory  big-wigs — Colonels  Glaus,  Guy  Johnson,  and  John  Butlex, 
and  a  heavily  armed  escort  from  the  Hall. 

Then  Guy  Johnson  climbed  up  onto  a  high  stoop  and  began 
to  harangue  our  unarmed  people,  warning  them  of  offending 
Majesty,  abusing  them  for  dolts  and  knaves  and  traitors  to  their 
King,  until  Jacob  Sammons,  unable  to  stomach  such  abuse,  shook 
his  fist  at  the  Intendant.  And,  said  he:  "Guy  Johnson,  you  are  a 
liar  and  a  villain !  You  may  go  to  hell,  sir,  and  take  your  Indians, 
too!" 

But  Guy  Johnson  took  him  by  the  throat  and  called  him  a 
damned  villain  in  return.  Then  the  armed  guard  came  at  Sam- 
mons and  knocked  him  down  with  their  pistol-butts,  and  a  servant 
of  Sir  John  sat  astride  his  body  and  beat  him. 

There  was  a  vast  uproar  then;  but  our  people  were  unarmed, 
and  presently  took  Sammons  and  went  off. 

But,  as  they  left  the  street,  many  of  them  called  out  to  Sir 
John  that  it  were  best  for  him  to  fortify  his  Baronial  Hall,  because 
the  day  drew  near  when  he  would  be  more  in  need  of  swivel  guns 
than  of  congratulations  from  his  Royal  Master. 


28  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

Sure,  now,  the  fire  blazing  so  prettily  in  Boston  was  already 
running  north  along  the  Hudson ;  and  Tryon  had  begun  to  smoke. 

Now  there  was,  in  County  Tryon,  a  number  of  militia  regiments 
of  which,  when  brigaded,  Sir  William  had  been  our  General 

Guy  Johnson,  also,  was  Colonel  of  the  Mohawk  regiment.  But 
the  Mohawk  regiment  had  naturally  split  in  two. 

Nevertheless  he  paraded  the  Tory  remainder  of  it,  doubtless  with 
the  intention  of  awing  the  entire  county. 

It  did  awe  us  who  were  unorganized,  had  no  powder,  and  whose 
messengers  to  Albany  in  quest  of  ammunition  were  now  stopped 
and  searched  by  Sir  John's  men. 

For  the  Baronet,  also,  seemed  alarmed;  and,  with  his  battalion 
of  Highlanders,  his  Tory  militia,  his  swivels,  and  his  armed  re- 
tainers, could  muster  five  hundred  men  and  no  mean  artillery  to 
hold  the  Hall  if  threatened. 

But  this  is  not  what  really  troubled  the  plain  people  of  Tryon. 
Guy  Johnson  controlled  thousands  of  savage  Iroquois.  Their  war 
chief  was  Sir  William's  brother-in-law,  brother  to  the  dark  Lady 
Johnson,  Joseph  Brant,  called  Thayendanegea, — the  greatest  Mo- 
hawk who  ever  lived, — perhaps  the  greatest  of  all  Iroquois.  And 
I  think  that  Hiawatha  alone  was  greater  in  North  America. 

Brave,  witty,  intelligent,  intellectual,  having  a  very  genius  for 
war  and  stratagems,  educated  like  any  gentleman  of  the  day  and 
having  served  Sir  William  as  secretary,  Brant,  in  the  conventional 
garments  of  civilization,  presented  a  charming  and  perfectly  agree- 
able appearance. 

Accustomed  to  the  society  of  Sir  William's  drawing  room,  this 
Canienga  Chief  was  utterly  conversant  with  polite  usage,  and 
entirely  qualified  to  maintain  any  conversation  addressed  to  him. 
Always  he  had  been  made  much  of  by  ladies — always,  when  it  did 
not  too  greatly  weary  him,  was  he  the  centre  of  batteries  of  bright 
eyes  and  the  object  of  gayest  solicitation  amid  those  respectable 
gatherings  for  which,  in  Sir  William's  day,  the  Hall  was  so  justly 
celebrated. 

That  was  the  modest  and  civil  student  and  gentleman,  Joseph 
Brant. 

But  in  the  forest  he  was  a  painted  spectre;  in  battle  a  flame! 
He  was  a  war  chief:  he  never  became  Roya-neh;*  but  he  pos- 
sessed the  wisdom  of  Hendrik,  the  eloquence  of  Red  Jacket,  the 
terrific  energy  of  Hiakatoo. 

We,  of  Tryon,  were  aware  of  all  these  things.  Our  ears  were  lis- 
tening for  the  dread  wolf  cry  of  the  Iroquois  in  their  paint;  our 

*  Sachem  :  the  Canienga  term. 


THE  POT  BOILS  29 

eyes  were  turned  in  dumb  expectation  toward  our  Provincial 
Congress  of  New  York;  toward  our  dear  General  Schuyler  in 
Albany;  toward  the  Continental  Congress  now  in  solemn  session; 
toward  our  new  and  distant  hope  shining  clearer,  brighter  as  each 
day  ended — His  Excellency  the  Virginian. 

How  long  were  Sir  John  and  his  people  to  be  left  here  in  County 
Tryon  to  terrorize  all  friends  to  liberty, — to  fortify  Johnstown,  to 
stop  us  about  our  business  on  the  King's  highway,  to  intrigue  with 
the  Mohawks,  the  Oneidas,  the  Cayugas,  the  Onondagas,  the  Sene- 
cas,  the  Tuscaroras? 

Guy  Johnson  tampered  with  the  Kiver  Indians  at  Poughkeepsie, 
and  we  knew  it.  He  sent  belts  to  the  Shawanese,  to  the  Wyan- 
dottes,  to  the  Mohicans.  We  knew  it.  He  met  the  Delaware 
Sachems  at  a  mongrel  fire — God  knows  where  and  by  what  author- 
ity, for  the  Federal  Council  never  gave  it! — and  we  stopped  one 
of  his  runners  in  the  Bush  with  his  pouch  full  o'  belts  and  strings ; 
and  we  took  every  inch  of  wampum  without  leave  of  Sir  John,  and 
bade  the  runner  tell  him  what  we  did. 

We  wrote  to  Albany;  Albany  made  representations  to  Sir  John, 
and  the  Baronet  replied  that  his  show  of  armed  force  at  the  Hall 
was  solely  for  the  reason  that  he  had  been  warned  that  the  Boston 
people  were  laying  plans  to  invade  Tryon  and  make  of  him  a 
prisoner. 

I  think  this  silly  lie  was  too  much  for  Schuyler,  for  all  now 
knew  that  war  must  come.  Twelve  Colonies,  in  Congress  as- 
sembled, had  announced  that  they  had  rather  die  as  free  people 
than  continue  to  live  as  slaves.  Very  fine  indeed!  But  what  was 
of  more  interest  to  us  at  Fonda's  Bush,  this  Congress  commis- 
sioned George  Washington  as  Commander  in  Chief  of  a  Colonial 
Army  of  20,000  men,  and  prepared  to  raise  three  millions  on  bills 
of  credit  for  the  prosecution  of  the  war! 

Now,  at  last,  the  cleavage  had  come.  Now,  at  last,  Sir  John 
was  forced  into  the  open. 

He  swore  by  Almighty  God  that  he  had  had  no  hand  in  in- 
triguing against  the  plain  people  of  Tryon:  and  while  he  was 
making  this  oath,  Guy  Johnson  was  raising  the  Iroquois  against 
us  at  Oswego;  he  was  plotting  with  Carleton  and  Haldimand  at 
Montreal;  he  had  arranged  for  the  departure  of  Brant  with  the 
great  bulk  of  the  Mohawk  nation,  and,  with  them,  the  fighting 
men  of  the  Iroquois  Confederacy.  Only  the  Western  Gate  Keep- 
ers remained, — the  fierce  Senecas. 

And  so,  except  for  a  few  Tuscaroras,  a  few  lukewarm  Ononda- 
gas, a  few  of  the  Lenape,  and  perhaps  half — possibly  two-thirds 


30  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

of  the  Oneida  nation,  Guy  Johnson  already  had  swung  the  terrible 
Iroquois  to  the  King. 

And  now,  secretly,  the  rats  began  to  leave  for  the  North,  where, 
behind  the  Canada  border,  savage  hordes  were  gathering  by  clans, 
red  and  white  alike. 

Guy  Johnson  went  on  pretense  of  Indian  business;  and  none 
dare  stop  the  Superintendent  for  Indian  affairs  on  a  mission  re- 
quiring, as  he  stated,  his  personal  appearance  at  Oswego. 

But  once  there  he  slipped  quietly  over  into  Canada;  and  Brant 
joined  him. 

Colonel  Glaus  sneaked  North ;  old  John  Butler  went  in  the  night 
with  a  horde  of  Johnstown  and  Caughnawaga  Tories.  McDonald 
followed,  accompanied  by  some  scores  of  bare-shinned  Tory  Mc's. 
Walter  Butler  disappeared  like  a  phantom. 

But  Sir  John  remained  behind  his  stockade  and  swivels  at  the 
Hall,  vowing  and  declaring  that  he  meditated  no  mischief — no, 
none  at  all. 

Then,  in  a  fracas  in  Johnstown,  that  villain  sheriff,  Alexander 
White,  fired  upon  Sammons,  and  the  friends  to  liberty  went  to 
take  the  murderous  Tory  at  the  jail. 

Frey  was  made  sheriff,  which  infuriated  Sir  John;  but  Governor 
Tryon  deposed  him  and  reappointed  White,  so  the  plain  people 
went  again  to  do  him  a  harm ;  and  he  fled  the  district  to  the  morti- 
fication of  the  Baronet. 

But  Sir  John's  course  was  nearly  at  an  end :  and  events  in  the 
outer  world  set  the  sands  in  his  cloudy  glass  running  very  swiftly. 
Schuyler  and  Montgomery  were  directing  a  force  of  troops  against 
Montreal  and  Quebec,  and  Sir  Guy  Carleton,  Governor  General 
of  Canada,  was  shrieking  for  help. 

St.  John's  surrendered,  and  the  Mohawk  Indians  began  fighting! 

Here  was  a  pretty  pickle  for  Sir  John  to  explain. 

Suddenly  we  had  news  of  the  burning  of  Falmouth. 

On  a  bitter  day  in  early  winter,  an  Express  passed  through 
Fonda's  Bush  on  snow-shoes,  calling  out  a  squad  of  the  Mohawk 
Regiment  of  District  Militia. 

Nick  Stoner,  Andrew  Bowman,  Joe  Scott,  and  I  answered  the 
summons. 

Snow-shoeing  was  good — a  light  fall  on  the  crust — and  we  pulled 
foot  for  the  Kingsborough  trail,  where  we  met  up  with  a  squad 
from  the  Palatine  Regiment  and  another  from  the  Flatts. 

But  scarce  were  we  in  sight  of  Johnstown  steeples  when  the 


THE  POT  BOILS  31 

drums  of  an  Albany  battalion  were  heard;  r,nd  we  saw,  across  the 
snow,  their  long  brown  muskets  slanting,  and  heard  their  bugle- 
horn  on  the  Johnstown  road. 

I  saw  nothing  of  the  affair  at  the  Hall,  being  on  guard  at  St. 
John's  Church,  lower  down  in  the  town.  But  I  saw  our  General 
Schuyler  ride  up  the  street  with  his  officers;  and  so  knew  that  all 
would  go  well. 

All  went  well  enough,  they  say.  For  when  again  the  General 
rode  past  the  church,  I  saw  waggons  under  our  essort  piled  with 
the  muskets  of  the  Highland  Battalion,  and  others  heaped  high 
with  broad-swords,  pistols,  swivels,  and  pikes.  And  on  Saturday, 
the  twentieth  of  January,  when  our  tour  of  duty  ended,  and  our 
squads  were  dismissed,  each  to  its  proper  district,  all  people  knew 
that  Sir  John  Johnson  had  given  his  parole  of  honor  not  to  take 
up  arms  against  America;  not  to  communicate  with  the  Royalists 
in  Canada;  not  to  oppose  the  friends  of  liberty  at  home;  nor  to 
stir  from  his  Baronial  Hall  to  go  to  Canada  or  to  the  sea,  but  with 
liberty  to  transact  such  business  as  might  be  necessary  in  other 
parts  of  this  colony. 

And  I,  for  one,  never  doubted  that  a  son  of  the  great  Sir 
William  would  keep  his  word  and  sacred  parole  of  honour. 


CHAPTER  IV 

TWO  COUNTRY  MICE 

IT  was  late  in  April,  and  I  had  boiled  my  sap  and  had  done  with 
my  sugar  bush  for  another  year.  The  snow  was  gone;  the 
Kennyetto  roared  amber  brilliant  through  banks  of  melting  ice, 
and  a  sweet  odour  of  arbutus  filled  all  the  woods. 

Spring  was  in  the  land  and  in  my  heart,  too,  and  when  Nick 
Stoner  galloped  to  my  door  in  his  new  forest  dress,  very  fine,  I, 
nothing  loath,  did  hasten  to  dress  me  in  my  new  doe-skins,  not 
less  fine  than  Nick's  and  lately  made  for  me  by  a  tailor-woman 
in  Kingsborough  who  was  part  Oneida  and  part  Dutch. 

That  day  I  wore  a  light,  round  cap  of  silver  mole  fur  with  my 
unshorn  hair,  all  innocent  of  queue  or  powder,  curling  crisp  like 
a  woman's.  Of  which  I  was  ashamed  and  eager  to  visit  Toby 
Tice,  our  Johnstown  barber,  and  be  trimmed. 

My  new  forest  dress,  as  I  sayf  was  of  doe-skin — a  laced  shirt 
belted  in,  shoulder-caped,  cut  round  the  neck  to  leave  my  throat 
free,  and  with  long  thrums  on  sleeve  and  skirt  against  need. 

Trews  shaped  to  fit  my  legs  close;  and  thigh  moccasins,  very 
deep  with  undyed  fringe,  but  ornamented  by  an  infinite  pattern  of 
little  green  vines,  made  me  brave  in  my  small  mirror.  And  my 
ankle  moccasins  were  gay  with  Oneida  devices  wrought  out  of 
porcupine  quills  and  beads,  scarlet,  green,  purple,  and  orange,  and 
laid  open  at  the  instep  by  two  beaded  flaps. 

I  saddled  my  mare,  Kaya,  in  her  stall,  which  was  a  log  wing 
to  my  house,  and  presently  mounted  and  rode  around  to  where 
Nick  sat  his  saddle  a-playing  on  his  fife,  which  he  carried  every- 
where with  him,  he  loving  music  but  obliged  to  make  his  own. 

"Lord  Harry!"  cried  he  on  seeing  me  so  fine.  "If  you  are  not 
truly  a  Viscount  then  you  look  one  I" 

"I  would  not  change  '^ny  name  and  health  and  content,"  said 
I,  "for  a  king's  gold  crown  today."  And  I  clinked  the  silver 
coins  in  my  pouch  and  laughed.  And  so  we  rode  away  along  the 
Johnstown  road. 

He  also,  I  think,  -was  dying  for  a  frolic.  Young  minds  in 
trouble  as  well  as  hal  1-worked  bodies  need  a  holiday  now  and 

32 


TWO  COUNTRY  MICE  33 

then.  He  winked  at  me  and  chinked  the  shillings  in  his  bullet- 
pouch. 

"We  shall  see  all  the  sights,"  quoth  he,  "and  the  Kennyetto  could 
not  quench  my  thirst  today,  nor  our  two  horses  eat  as  much,  nor 
since  time  began  could  all  the  lovers  in  history  love  as  much  as 
could  I  this  April  day.  .  .  .  Were  there  some  pretty  wench  of  my 
own  mind  to  use  me  kindly.  .  .  .  Like  that  one  who  smiled  at  us 
— do  you  remember?" 

"At  Christmas  ?" 

"That's  the  one!"  he  exclaimed.  "Lord!  but  she  was  handsome 
in  her  sledge! — and  her  sister,  too,  Jack." 

"I  forget  their  names,"  said  I. 

"Browse,"  he  said,  " — Jessica  and  Betsy.  And  they  live  at 
Pigeon-Wood  near  Mayfield." 

"Oho!"  said  I,  "you  have  made  their  acquaintance!" 

He  laughed  and  we  galloped  on. 

Nick  sang  in  his  saddle,  beating  time  upon  his  thigh  with  his 
fife: 

"Flammadiddle! 
Paddadiddle! 
Flammadiddle  dandy! 
My  Love's  kisses 
Are  sweet  as  sugar-candy! 
Flammadiddle ! 
Paddadiddle! 
Flammadiddle  dandy! 
She  makes  fun  o'  me 
Because  my  legs  are  bandy ?' 

He  checked  his  gay  refrain: 

"Speaking  of  flamms,"  said  he,  "my  brother  John  desires  to  be 
a  drummer  in  the  Continental  Line." 

"He  is  only  fourteen,"  said  I,  laughing. 

"I  know.  But  he  is  a  tall  lad  and  stout  enough.  What  will  be 
your  regiment,  Jack?" 

"I  like  Colonel  Livingston's,"  said  I,  "but  nobody  yet  knows 
what  is  to  be  the  fate  of  the  district  militia  and  whether  the 
Mohawk  regiment,  the  Palatine,  and  the  other  three  are  to  be 
recruited  to  replace  the  Tory  deserters,  or  what  is  to  be  done." 

Nick  flourished  his  flute:  "All  I  know,"  he  said,  "is  that  my 
father  and  brother  and  I  mean  to  march." 

"I  also,"  said  I. 


34  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

"Then   it's   in   God's   hands,"   he  remarked   cheerfully,   "and   I 
mean  to  use  my  ears  and  eyes  in  Johnstown  today." 
We  put  our  horses  to  a  gallop. 

We  rode  into  Johnstown  and  through  the  village,  very  pleased  to 
be  in  civilization  again,  and  saluting  many  wayfarers  whom  we 
recognized,  Tory  and  Whig  alike.  Some  gave  us  but  a  cold  good- 
day  and  looked  sideways  at  our  forest  dress;  others  were  marked 
in  cordiality, — men  like  our  new  Sheriff,  Frey,  and  the  two  Sam- 
monses  and  Jacob  Shew. 

We  met  none  of  the  Hall  people  except  the  Bouw-Meester,  rid- 
ing beside  five  yoke  of  beautiful  oxen,  who  drew  bridle  to  exchange 
a  mouthful  of  farm  gossip  with  me  while  the  grinning  slaves 
waited  on  the  footway,  goads  in  hand. 

Also,  I  saw  out  o'  the  tail  of  my  eye  the  two  Bartholomews  pass- 
ing, white  and  stunted  and  uncanny  as  ever,  but  pretended  not 
to  notice  them,  for  I  had  always  felt  a  shiver  when  they  squeaked 
good-day  at  me,  and  when  they  doffed  hats  the  tops  of  their  heads 
had  blue  marbling  on  the  scalp  under  their  scant  dry  hair.  Which 
did  not  please  me. 

Whilst  I  chattered  with  the  Bouw-Meester  of  seeds  and  plowing, 
Nick,  who  had  no  love  for  husbandry,  practiced  upon  his  fife  so 
windily  and  with  such  enthusiasm  that  we  three  horsemen  were 
soon  ringed  round  by  urchins  of  the  town  on  their  reluctant  way 
to  school. 

"How's  old  Wall?"  cried  Nick,  resting  his  puckered  lips  and 
wiping  his  fife.  "There's  a  schoolmaster  for  pickled  rods,  I  war- 
rant. Eh,  boys?  Am  I  right?" 

Lads  and  lassies  giggled,  some  sucked  thumbs  and  others  hung 
their  heads. 

"Come,  then,"  cried  Nick,  "he's  a  good  fellow,  after  all!  And 
so  am  I — when  I'm  asleep !" 

Whereat  all  the  children  giggled  again  and  Nick  fished  a  great 
cake  of  maple  sugar  from  his  Indian  pouch,  drew  his  war-hatchet, 
broke  the  lump,  and  passed  around  the  fragments.  And  many  a 
childish  face,  which  had  been  bright  and  clean  with  scrubbing, 
continued  schoolward  as  sticky  as  a  bear  cub  in  a  bee-tree. 

And  now  the  Bouw-Meester  and  his  oxen  and  the  grinning 
slaves  had  gone  their  way;  so  Nick  and  I  went  ours. 

There  were  taverns  enough  in  the  town.  We  stopped  at  one 
or  two  for  a  long  pull  and  a  dish  of  meat. 

Out  of  the  window  I  could  see  something  of  the  town  and  it 
seemed  changed;  the  Court  House  deserted;  the  jail  walled  in  by 


TWO  COUNTRY  MICE  35- 

a  new  palisade;  fewer  people  on  the  street,  and  little  traffic.  Nor 
did  I  perceive  any  red-coats  ruffling  it  as  of  old;  the  Highlanders 
who  passed  wore  no  side-arms, — excepting  the  officers.  And  I 
thought  every  Scot  looked  glum  as  a  stray  dog  in  a  new  village, 
where  every  tyke  moves  stiffly  as  he  passes  and  follows  his  course 
with  evil  eyes. 

We  had  silver  in  our  bullet  pouches.  We  visited  every  shop, 
but  purchased  nothing  useful;  for  Nick  bought  sweets  and  a 
mouse-trap  and  some  alley-taws  for  his  brother  John — who  wished 
to  go  to  war!  Oh,  Lord! — and  for  his  mother  he  found  skeins 
of  brightly-coloured  wool;  and  for  his  father  a  Barlow  jack-knife. 

I  bought  some  suckets  and  fish-hooks  and  a  fiddle, — God  knows 
why,  for  I  can  not  play  on  it,  nor  desire  to! — and  I  further  pur- 
chased two  books,  "Lives  of  Great  Philosophers,"  by  Rudd,  and 
a  witty  poem  by  Peter  Pindar,  called  "The  Lousiad" — a  bold  and 
mirthful  lampoon  on  the  British  King. 

These  packets  we  stowed  in  our  saddle-bags,  and  after  that  we 
knew  not  what  to  do  save  to  seek  another  tavern. 

But  Nick  was  no  toss-pot,  nor  was  I.  And  having  no  malt- 
thirst,  we  remained  standing  in  the  street  beside  our  horses,  de- 
bating whether  to  go  home  or  no. 

"Shall  you  pay  respects  at  the  Hall?"  he  asked  seriously. 

But  I  saw  no  reason  to  go,  owing  no  duty ;  and  the  visit  certain 
to  prove  awkward,  if,  indeed,  it  aroused  in  Sir  John  no  more 
violent  emotion  than  pain  at  sight  of  me. 

With  our  bridles  over  our  arms,  still  debating,  we  walked  along 
the  street  until  we  came  to  the  Johnson  Arms  Tavern, — a  Tory 
rendezvous  not  now  frequented  by  friends  of  liberty. 

It  was  so  dull  in  Johnstown  that  we  tied  our  horses  and  went 
into  the  Johnson  Arms,  hoping,  I  fear,  to  stir  up  a  mischief 
inside. 

Their  brew  was  poor;  and  the  spirits  of  the  dozen  odd  Tories 
who  sat  over  chess  or  draughts,  or  whispered  behind  soiled  gazettes,, 
was  poorer  still. 

All  looked  up  indifferently  as  we  entered  and  saluted  them. 

"Ah,  gentlemen,"  says  Nick,  "this  is  a  glorious  April  day,  is 
it  not?" 

"It's  well  enough,"  said  a  surly  man  in  horn  spectacles,  "but  I 
should  be  vastly  obliged,  sir,  if  you  would  shut  the  door,  which  you 
have  left  swinging  in  the  wind." 

."Sir,"  says  Nick,  "I  fear  you  are  no  friend  to  God's  free  winds. 
Free  winds,  free  sunshine,  free  speech,  these  suit  my  fancy.  Free- 
dom, sir,  in  her  every  phase — and  Liberty — the  glorious  jade! 


36  THE  LITTLE  BED  FOOT 

Ah,  gentlemen,  there's  a  sweetheart  you  can  never  tire  of.  Take 
my  advice  and  woo  her,  and  you'll  never  again  complain  of  a 
breeze  on  your  shins!" 

"If  you  are  so  ardent,  sir,"  retorted  another  man  in  a  sneering 
voice,  "why  do  you  not  go  courting  your  jade  in  Massachusetts 
Bay?" 

"Because,  sir,"  said  I,  "our  sweetheart,  Mistress  Liberty,  is 
already  on  her  joyous  way  to  Johnstown.  It  is  a  rendezvous, 
gentlemen.  Will  it  please  you  to  join  us  in  receiving  her?" 

One  man  got  up,  overturning  the  draught  board,  paid  his  reck- 
oning, and  went  out  muttering  and  gesticulating. 

"A  married  man,"  quoth  Nick,  "and  wedded  to  that  old  hag, 
Tyranny.  It  irks  him  to  hear  of  fresh  young  jades,  knowing  only 
too  well  what  old  sour-face  awaits  him  at  home  with  the  bald  end 
of  a  broom." 

The  dark  looks  cast  at  us  signalled  storms;  but  none  came,  so 
poor  the  spirit  of  the  company. 

"Gentlemen,  you  seem  melancholy  and  distrait,"  said  I.  "Are 
you  so  pensive  because  my  Lord  Dunmore  has  burned  our  pleasant 
city  of  Norfolk?  Is  it  that  which  weighs  upon  your  minds?  Or 
is  the  sad  plight  of  Tommy  Gage  distressing  you  ?  Or  the  several 
pickles  in  which  Sir  Guy  Carleton,  General  Burgoyne,  and  Gen- 
eral Howe  find  themselves  ?" 

"Possibly,"  quoth  Nick,  "a  short  poem  on  these  three  British 
warriors  may  enliven  you: 

"Carleton,  Burgoyne,  Howe, 
"Bow-wow-wow !" 

But  there  was  nothing  to  be  hoped  of  these  sullen  Tories,  for 
they  took  our  laughter  scowling,  but  budged  not  an  inch.  A  pity, 
for  it  was  come  to  a  pretty  pass  in  Johnstown  when  two  honest 
farmers  must  go  home  for  lack  of  a  rogue  or  two  of  sufficient 
spirit  to  liven  a  dull  day  withaL 

We  stopped  at  the  White  Doe  Tavern,  and  Nick  gave  the  com- 
pany another  poem,  which  he  said  was  writ  by  my  Lord  North: 

"O  Boston  wives  and  maids  draw  near  and  see 
Our  delicate  Souchong  and  Hyson  tea; 
Buy  it,  my  charming  girls,  fair,  black,  or  brown; 
If  not,  we'll  cut  your  throats  and  burn  your  town!" 


TWO  COUNTRY  MICE  37 

Whereat  all  the  company  laughed  and  applauded;  and  there  was 
no  hope  of  any  sport  to  be  had  there,  either. 

'Well,"  said  Nick,  sighing,  "the  war  seems  to  be  done  ere  it  be- 
gun. What's  in  those  whelps  at  the  Johnson  Arms,  that  they 
stomach  such  jests  as  we  cook  for  them  ?  Time  was  when  I  knew 
where  I  could  depend  upon  a  broken  head  in  Johnstown — mine  own 
or  another's." 

We  had  it  in  mind  to  dine  at  the  Doe,  planning,  as  we  sat  on 
the  stoop,  bridles  in  hand,  to  ride  back  to  the  Bush  by  new  moon- 
light. 

"If  a  pretty  wench  were  as  rare  as  a  broken  head  in  Johns- 
town," he  muttered,  "I'd  be  undone,  indeed.  Come,  Jack;  shall 
we  ride  that  way  homeward?" 

'Which  way  ?" 

"By  Pigeon- Wood." 

"By  Mayfield?" 

"Aye." 

"You  have  a  sweetheart  there,  yon  say?" 

"And  so,  perhaps,  might  you,  for  the  pain  of  passing  by." 

"No,"  said  I,  "I  want  no  sweetheart.  To  clip  a  lip  en  passant, 
if  the  lip  be  warm  and  willing, — that  is  one  thing.  A  blush  and 
a  laugh  and  'tis  over.  But  to  journey  in  quest  of  gallantries  with 
malice  aforethought — no." 

"I  saw  her  in  a  sledge,"  sighed  Nick,  sucking  his  empty  pipe. 
"And  followed.  Lord,  but  she  is  handsome, — Betsy  Browse! — and 
looked  at  me  kindly,  I  thought.  .  .  .  We  had  a  fight." 

'What?" 

"Her  father  and  I.  For  an  hour  the  old  man  nigh  twisted  his 
head  off  turning  around  to  see  what  sledge  was  following  his. 
Then  he  shouts,  Whoa!'  and  out  he  bounces  into  the  snow;  and 
I  out  o'  my  sledge  to  see  what  it  was  he  wanted. 

"He  wanted  my  scalp,  I  think,  for  when  I  named  myself  and 
said  I  lived  at  Fonda's  Bush,  he  fetched  me  a  knock  with  his 
frozen  mittens, — Lord,  Jack,  I  saw  a  star  or  two,  I  warrant  you; 
and  a  gay  stream  squirted  from  my  nose  upon  the  snow  and 
presently  the  whole  wintry  world  looked  red  to  me,  so  I  let  fly  a 
fist  or  two  at  the  old  man,  and  he  let  fly  a  few  more  at  me. 

"  'Dammy !'  says  he,  Til  learn  ye  to  foller  my  darters,  you  poor 
dum  Boston  critter!  Til  drum  your  hide  from  Fundy's  Bush  to 
Canady !' 

"But  after  I  had  rolled  him  in  the  snow  till  his  scratch-wig  fell 
off,  he  became  more  civil — quite  polite  for  a  Tory  with  his  mouth 
full  o'  snow. 


38  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

"So  I  went  with  him  to  his  sledge  and  made  a  polite  bow  to  the 
ladies — who  looked  excited  but  seemed  inclined  to  smile  when  I 
promised  to  pass  by  Pigeon- Wood  some  day." 

"A  rough  wooing,"  said  I,  laughing. 

"Rough  on  old  man  Browse.    But  he's  gone  with  Guy  Johnson." 

"What!    To  Canada?    The  beast!" 

"Aye.  So  I  thought  to  stop  some  day  at  Pigeon- Wood  to  see  if 
the  cote  were  entirely  empty  or  no.  Lord,  what  a  fight  we  had, 
old  Browse  and  I,  there  in  the  snow  of  the  Mayfield  road!  And 
he  burly  as  an  October  bear — a  man  all  knotted  over  with  muscles, 
and  two  fists  that  slapped  you  like  the  front  kick  of  a  moose! 
Oh,  Lordy!  Lordy!  What  a  battle  was  there.  .  .  .  What  bright 
eyes  hath  that  little  jade  Betsy,  of  Pigeon-Wood !" 

Now,  as  he  spoke,  I  had  a  mind  to  see  this  same  Tory  girl  of 
Pigeon- Wood;  and  presently  admitted  to  him  my  curiosity. 

And  then,  just  as  we  had  mounted  and  were  gathering  bridles 
and  searching  for  our  stirrups  with  moccasined  toes,  comes  a 
galloper  in  scarlet  jacket  and  breeks,  with  a  sealed  letter  waved 
high  to  halt  me. 

Sitting  my  horse  in  the  street,  I  broke  the  seal  and  read  what 
was  written  to  me. 

The  declining  sun  sent  its  rosy  shafts  through  the  still  village 
now,  painting  every  house  and  setting  glazed  windows  a-glitter. 

I  looked  around  me,  soberly,  at  the  old  and  familiar  town;  I 
glanced  at  Nick;  I  gazed  coldly  upon  the  galloper, — a  cornet  of 
Border  Horse,  and  as  solemn  as  he  was  young. 

"Sir,"  said  I,  "pray  present  to  Lady  Johnson  my  duties  and 
my  compliments,  and  say  that  I  am  honoured  by  her  ladyship's 
commands,  and  shall  be — happy — to  present  myself  at  Johnson 
Hall  within  the  hour." 

Young  galloper  salutes;  I  outdo  him  in  exact  and  scrupulous 
courtesy,  mole-skin  cap  in  hand;  and  'round  he  wheels  and  away 
he  tears  like  the  celebrated  Tory  in  the  song,  Jock  Gallopaway. 

"Here's  a  kettle  o'  fish,"  remarked  Nick  in  disgust. 

"Were  it  not  Lady  Johnson,"  muttered  I,  but  checked  myself. 
After  all,  it  seemed  ungenerous  that  I  should  decline  to  see  even 
Sir  John,  who  now  was  virtually  a  prisoner  of  my  own  party, 
penned  here  within  that  magnificent  domain  of  which  his  great 
father  had  been  creator  and  absolute  lord. 

"I  must  go,  Nick,"  I  said  in  a  low  voice. 

He  said  with  a  slight  sneer,  "Noblesse  oblige n  and  then, 

sorry,  laid  a  quick  hand  on  my  arm. 


39 

"Forgive  me,  Jack.  My  father  wears  two  gold  rings  in  his  ears. 
Your  father  wore  them  on  his  fingers.  I  know  I  am  a  boor  until 
your  kindness  makes  me  forget  it." 

I  said  quietly :  "We  are  two  comrades  and  friends  to  liberty.  It 
is  not  what  we  are  born  to  but  what  we  are  that  matters  a  copper 
penny  in  the  world." 

''It  is  easy  for  you  to  say  so." 

"It  is  important  for  you  to  believe  so.    As  I  do." 

"Do  you  really  so?"  he  asked  with  that  winning  upward  glance 
tnat  revealed  his  boyish  faith  in  me. 

"I  really  do,  Nick;  else,  perhaps,  I  had  been  with  Guy  Johnson 
in  Canada  long  ago." 

"Then  I  shall  try  to  believe  it,  too,'f  he  murmured,  " — whether 
ears  or  fingers  or  toes  wear  the  rings." 

We  laughed. 

"How  long?"  he  inquired  bluntly. 

"To  sup,  I  think.  I  must  remain  if  Lady  Johnson  requests  it 
of  me." 

"And  afterward.    Will  you  ride  home  by  way  of  Pigeon- Wood  ?" 

"Will  you  still  be  lingering  there?"  I  asked  with  a  smile. 

"Whether  the  pigeon-cote  be  empty  or  full,  I  shall  await  you 
there." 

I  nodded.  We  smiled  at  each  other  and  wheeled  our  horses  in 
opposite  directions. 


CHAPTER  V 

A  SUPPEE 

NOW,  what  seemed  strange  to  me  at  the  Hall  was  the  cheer- 
fulness of  all  under  circumstances  which  must  have  mortified 
any  Royalist,  and,  in  particular,  the  principal  family  in  North 
America  of  that  political  complexion. 

Even  Sir  John,  habitually  cold  and  reserved,  appeared  to  be  in 
most  excellent  spirits  for  such  a  man,  and  his  wintry  smile  shed 
its  faint  pale  gleam  more  than  once  upon  the  company  assembled 
at  supper. 

On  my  arrival  there  seemed  to  be  nobody  there  except  the 
groom,  who  took  my  mare,  Kaya,  and  Frank,  Sir  William's  but- 
ier,  who  ushered  me  and  seemed  friendly. 

Into  the  drawing  room  came  black  Flora,  all  smiles,  to  say  that 
the  gentlemen  were  dressing  but  that  Lady  Johnson  would  re- 
ceive me. 

She  was  seated  before  her  glass  in  her  chamber,  and  the  red- 
cheeked  Irish  maid  she  had  broaght  from  New  York  was  exceed- 
ingly busy  curling  her  hair. 

"Oh,  Jack!"  said  Lady  Johnson  softly,  and  holding  out  to  me 
one  hand  to  be  saluted,  "they  told  me  you  were  in  the  village. 
Has  it  become  necessary  that  I  must  send  for  an  old  friend  who 
should  have  come  of  his  own  free  will?" 

"I  thought  perhaps  you  and  Sir  John  might  not  take  pleasure 
in  a  visit  from  me,"  I  replied,  honestly  enough. 

"Why?  Because  last  winter  you  answered  the  district  summons 
and  were  on  guard  at  the  church  with  the  Rebel  Mohawk  com- 
pany ?" 

So  she  knew  that,  too.  But  I  had  scarcely  expected  otherwise. 
And  it  came  into  my  thought  that  the  dwarfish  Bartholomews  had 
given  her  news  of  my  doings  and  my  whereabouts. 

"Come,"  said  she  in  her  lively  manner,  "a  good  soldier  obeys 
his  colonel,  whoever  that  officer  may  chance  to  be — for  the  moment. 
And,  were  you  even  otherwise  inclined,  Jack,  of  what  use  would 
it  have  been  to  disobey  after  Philip  Schuyler  disarmed  our  poor 
Scots?" 

40 


A  SUPPER  41 

"If  Sir  John  feels  as  you  do,  it  makes  my  visit  easier  for  all," 
said  I. 

"Sir  John,"  she  replied,  "is  not  a  whit  concerned.  We  here  at 
the  Hall  have  laid  down  our  arms ;  we  are  peaceably  disposed ;  farm 
duties  begin;  a  multitude  of  affairs  preoccupy  us;  so  let  who  will 
fight  out  this  quarrel  in  Massachusetts  Bay,  so  only  that  we  have 
tranquillity  and  peace  in  County  Tryon." 

I  listened,  amazed,  to  this  school-girl  chatter,  marvelling  that 
she  herself  believed  such  pitiable  nonsense. 

Yet,  that  she  did  believe  it  I  was  assured,  because  in  my  Lady 
Johnson  there  was  nothing  false,  no  treachery  or  lies  or  cunning. 

Somebody  sure  had  filled  her  immature  mind  with  this  jargon, 
which  now  she  repeated  to  me.  And  in  it  I  vaguely  perceived  the 
duplicity  and  ingenious  manoeuvring  of  wills  and  minds  more 
experienced  than  her  own. 

But  I  said  only  that  I  hoped  this  county  might  escape  the  con- 
flagration now  roaring  through  all  New  England  and  burning 
very  fiercely  in  Virginia  and  the  Carolinas.  Then,  smiling,  I 
made  her  a  compliment  on  her  hair,  which  her  Irish  maid  was 
dressing  very  prettily,  and  laughed  at  her  man's  banyan  which 
she  so  saucily  wore  in  place  of  a  levete.  Only  a  young  and  pretty 
woman  could  presume  to  wear  a  flowered  silk  banyan  at  her 
toilet;  but  it  mightily  became  Polly  Johnson. 

"Claudia  is  here,"  she  remarked  with  a  kindly  malice  perfectly 
transparent. 

I  took  the  news  in  excellent  part,  and  played  the  hopeless  swain 
for  a  while,  to  amuse  her,  and  so  cunningly,  too,  that  presently 
the  charming  child  felt  bound  to  comfort  me. 

"Claudia  is  a  witch,"  says  she,  "and  does  vast  damage  to  no 
purpose  but  that  it  feeds  her  vanity.  And  this  I  have  said  fre- 
quently to  her  very  face,  and  shall  continue  until  she  chooses  to 
refrain  from  such  harmful  coquetry,  and  seems  inclined  to  a  more 
serious  consideration  of  life  and  duty." 

"Claudia  serious!"  I  exclaimed.  "When  Claudia  becomes  pen- 
sive, beware  of  her!" 

"Claudia  should  marry  early — as  I  did,"  said  she.  But  her 
features  grew  graver  as  she  said  it,  and  I  saw  not  in  them  that 
inner  light  which  makes  delicately  radiant  the  face  of  happy 
wifehood. 

I  thought,  "God  pity  her,"  but  I  said  gaily  enough  that  retribu- 
tion must  one  day  seize  Claudia's  dimpled  hand  and  place  it  in 
the  grasp  of  some  gentleman  fitly  fashioned  to  school  her. 

We  both  laughed;   then   she  being   ready   for   her   stays   and 


42  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

gown,  I  retired  to  the  library  below,  where,  to  my  chagrin,  who 
should  be  lounging  but  Hiakatoo,  war  chief  of  the  Senecas,  in 
all  his  ceremonial  finery.  Despite  what  dear  Mary  Jamison  has 
written  of  him,  nor  doubting  that  pure  soul's  testimony,  I  knew 
Hiakatoo  to  be  a  savage  beast  and  a  very  devil,  the  more  to  be 
suspected  because  of  his  terrible  intelligence. 

With  him  was  a  Mr.  Hare,  sometime  Lieutenant  in  the  Mohawk 
Regiment,  with  whom  I  had  a  slight  acquaintance.  I  knew  him 
to  be  Tory  to  the  bone,  a  deputy  of  Guy  Johnson  for  Indian  af- 
fairs, and  a  very  shifty  character  though  an  able  officer  of  county 
militia  and  a  scout  of  no  mean  ability. 

Hare  gave  me  good  evening  with  much  courtesy  and  self-pos- 
session. Hiakatoo,  also,  extended  a  muscular  hand,  which  I  was 
obliged  to  take  or  be  outdone  in  civilized  usage  by  a  savage. 

"Well,  sir,"  says  Hare  in  his  frank,  misleading  manner,  "the 
last  o'  the  sugar  is  a-boiling,  I  hear,  and  spring  plowing  should 
begin  this  week." 

Neither  he  nor  Hiakatoo  had  as  much  interest  in  husbandry  as 
two  hoot-owls,  nor  had  they  any  knowledge  of  it,  either;  but  I 
replied  politely,  and,  at  their  request,  gave  an  account  of  my 
glebe  at  Fonda's  Bush. 

"There  is  game  in  that  country,"  remarked  Hiakatoo  in  the 
Seneca  dialect. 

Instantly  it  entered  my  head  that  his  remark  had  two  inter- 
pretations, and  one  very  sinister;  but  his  painted  features  re- 
mained calmly  inscrutable  and  perhaps  I  had  merely  imagined  the 
dull,  hot  gleam  that  I  thought  had  animated  his  sombre  eyes. 

"There  is  game  in  the  Bush,"  said  I,  pleasantly, — "deer,  6  ear, 
turkeys,  and  partridges  a-drumming  the  long  roll  all  day  long. 
And  I  have  seen  a  moose  near  Lake  Desolation." 

Now  I  had  replied  to  the  Seneca  in  the  Canienga  dialect;  and 
he  might  interpret  in  two  ways  my  reference  to  bears,  and  also 
what  I  said  concerning  the  drumming  of  the  partridges. 

But  his  countenance  did  not  change  a  muscle,  nor  did  his  eyes. 
And  as  for  Hare,  he  might  not  have  understood  my  play  upon 
words,  for  he  seemed  interested  merely  in  a  literal  interpretation, 
and  appeared  eager  to  hear  about  the  moose  I  had  seen  near 
Lake  Desolation. 

So  I  told  him  I  had  watched  two  bulls  fighting  in  the  swamp 
until  the  older  beast  had  been  driven  off. 

"Civilization,  too,  will  soon  drive  away  the  last  of  the  moose 
from  Tryon,"  quoth  Hare. 


A  SUPPER  43 

''How  many  families  at  Fonda's  Bush?"  asked  Hiakatoo 
abruptly. 

I  was  about  to  reply,  telling  him  the  truth,  and  checked  myself 
with  lips  already  parted  to  speak. 

There  ensued  a  polite  silence,  but  in  that  brief  moment  I  was 
convinced  that  they  realized  I  suddenly  suspected  them. 

What  I  might  have  answered  the  Seneca  I  do  not  exactly  know, 
for  the  next  instant  Sir  John  entered  the  room  with  Ensign 
Moucher,  of  the  old  Mohawk  Regiment,  and  young  Captain  Watts 
from  New  York,  brother  to  Polly,  Lady  Johnson,  a  handsome, 
dissipated,  careless  lad,  inclined  to  peevishness  when  thwarted, 
and  marred,  perhaps,  by  too  much  adulation. 

Scarce  had  compliments  been  exchanged  with  snuff  when  Lady 
Johnson  entered  the  room  with  Claudia  Swift,  and  I  thought  I 
had  seldom  beheld  two  lovelier  ladies  in  their  silks  and  powder, 
who  curtsied  low  on  the  threshold  to  our  profound  bows. 

As  I  saluted  Lady  Johnson's  hand  again,  she  said:  "This  is 
most  kind  of  you,  Jack,  because  I  know  that  all  farmers  now  have 
little  time  to  waste." 

"Like  Cincinnatus,"  said  I,  smilingly,  "I  leave  my  plow  in  the 
furrow  at  the  call  of  danger,  and  hasten  to  brave  the  deadly  battery 
of  your  bright  eyes." 

Whereupon  she  laughed  that  sad  little  laugh  which  I  knew  so 
well,  and  which  seemed  her  manner  of  forcing  mirth  when  Sir 
John  was  present. 

I  took  her  out  at  her  request.  Sir  John  led  Claudia;  the  others 
paired  gravely,  Hare  walking  with  the  Seneca  and  whispering  in 
his  ear. 

Candles  seemed  fewer  than  usual  in  the  dining  hall,  but  were 
sufficient  to  display  the  late  Sir  William's  plate  and  glass. 

The  scented  wind  from  Claudia's  fan  stirred  my  hair,  and  I 
remembered  it  was  still  the  hair  of  a  forest  runner,  neither  short 
nor  sufficiently  long  for  the  queue,  and  powdered  not  a  trace. 

I  looked  around  at  Claudia's  bright  face,  more  brilliant  for  the 
saucy  patches  and  newly  powdered  hair. 

"La,"  said  she,  "you  vie  with  Hiakatoo  yonder  in  Mohawk 
finery,  Jack, — all  beads  and  thrums  and  wampum.  And  yet  you 
have  a  pretty  leg  for  a  silken  stocking,  too." 

"In  the  Bush,"  said  I,  "the  backwoods  aristocracy  make  little 
of  your  silk  hosen,  Claudia.  Our  stockings  are  leather  and  our 
powder  black,  and  our  patches  are  of  buckskin  and  are  sewed  on 
elbow  and  knee  with  pack-thread  or  sinew.  Or  we  use  them,  too, 
for  wadding." 


44  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

"It  is  a  fashion  like  another,"  she  remarked  with  a  shrug,  but 
watching  me  intently  over  her  fan's  painted  edge. 

"The  mode  is  a  tyrant,"  said  I,  "and  knows  neither  pity  nor 
good  taste." 

"How  so?" 

"Why,  Hiakatoo  also  wears  paint,  Claudia." 

"Meaning  that  I  wear  lip-rouge  and  lily -halm?  Well,  I  do,  my 
impertinent  friend." 

"Who  could  suspect  it?"  I  protested,  mockingly. 

"You  might  have  suspected  it  long  since  had  you  been  suffi- 
ciently adventurous." 

"How  so  ?"  I  inquired  in  my  turn. 

(CBy  kissing  me,  pardieu!  But  you  always  were  a  timid  youth, 
Jack  Drogue,  and  a  woman's  'No,'  with  the  proper  stare  of  indig- 
nation, always  was  sufficient  to  route  you  utterly." 

In  spite  of  myself  I  reddened  under  the  smiling  torment. 

"And  if  any  man  has  had  that  much  of  you,"  said  I,  "then  I 
for  one  will  believe  it  only  when  I  see  your  lip-rouge  on  his  lips !" 

"Court  me  again  and  then  look  into  your  mirror,"  she  retorted 
calmly. 

"What  in  the  world  are  you  saying  to  each  other?"  exclaimed 
Lady  Johnson,  tapping  me  with  her  fan.  "Why,  you  are  red  as  a 
squaw-berry,  Jack,  and  your  wine  scarce  tasted." 

Claudia  said :  "I  but  ask  him  to  try  his  fortune,  and  he  blushes 
like  a  silly." 

"Shame,"  returned  Lady  Johnson,  laughing ;  "and  you  have  Mr. 
Hare's  scalp  fresh  at  your  belt !" 

Hare  heard  it,  and  laughed  in  his  frank  way,  which  instantly 
disarmed  most  people  who  had  not  too  often  heard  it. 

"I  admit,"  said  he,  "that  I  shall  presently  perish  unless  this 
cruel  lady  proves  kinder,  or  restores  to  me  my  hair." 

"It  were  more  merciful,"  quoth  Ensign  Moucher,  "to  slay  out- 
right with  a  single  glance.  I  myself  am  long  since  doubly  dead," 
he  added  with  his  mealy-mouthed  laugh,  and  his  mean  reddish 
eyes  a-flickering  at  Lady  Johnson. 

Sir  John,  who  was  carving  a  roast  of  butcher's  meat,  carved 
on,  though  his  young  wife  ventured  a  glance  at  him — a  sad,  timid 
look  as  though  hopeful  that  her  husband  might  betray  some  inter- 
est when  other  men  said  gallant  things  to  her. 

I  asked  Sir  John's  permission  to  offer  a  toast,  and  he  gave  it 
with  cold  politeness. 

"To  the  two  cruellest  and  loveliest  creatures  alive  in  a  lore- 
stricken  world,"  said  I.  "Gentlemen,  I  offer  you  our  charming 


A  SUPPER  45 

tyrants.  And  may  our  heads  remain  ever  in  the  dust  and  their 
silken  shoon  upon  our  necks!" 

All  drank  standing.  The  Seneca  gulped  his  Madiera  like  a 
slobbering  dog,  noticing  nobody,  and  then  fell  fiercely  to  cutting 
up  his  meat,  until,  his  knife  being  in  the  way,  he  took  the  flesh  in 
his  two  fists  and  gnawed  it. 

But  nobody  appeared  to  notice  the  Seneca's  beastly  manners; 
and  such  general  complaisance  preoccupied  me,  because  Hiakatoo 
knew  better,  and  it  seemed  as  though  he  considered  himself  in  a 
position  where  he  might  disdain  to  conduct  suitably  amid  a  com- 
pany which,  possibly,  stood  in  need  of  his  good  will. 

Nobody  spoke  of  politics,  nor  did  I  care  to  introduce  such  a 
subject.  Conversation  was  general;  matters  concerning  the  town, 
the  Hall,  were  mentioned,  together  with  such  topics  as  are  usually 
discussed  among  land  owners  in  time  of  peace. 

And  it  seemed  to  me  that  Sir  John,  who  had,  as  usual,  re- 
mained coldly  reticent  among  his  guests,  became  of  a  sudden  con- 
versational with  a  sort  of  forced  animation,  like  a  man  who 
recollects  that  he  has  a  part  to  play  and  who  unwillingly  at- 
tempts it. 

He  spoke  of  the  Hall  farm,  and  of  how  he  meant  to  do  this  with 
this  part  and  that  with  that  part;  and  how  the  herd  bulls  were 
now  become  useless  and  he  must  send  to  the  Patroon  for  new 
blood, — all  a  mere  toneless  and  mechanical  babble,  it  seemed  to  me, 
and  without  interest  or  sincerity. 

Once,  sipping  my  claret,  I  thought  I  heard  a  faint  clash  of  arms 
outside  and  in  the  direction  of  the  guard-house. 

And  another  time  it  seemed  to  me  that  many  horses  were  stirring 
somewhere  outside  in  the  darkness. 

I  could  not  conceive  of  anything  being  afoot,  because  of  Sir 
John's  parole,  and  so  presently  dismissed  the  incidents  from  my 
mind. 

The  wine  had  somewhat  heated  the  men;  laughter  was  louder, 
speech  less  guarded.  Young  Watts  spoke  boldly  of  Haldimand 
and  Guy  Carleton,  naming  them  as  the  two  most  efficient  servants 
that  his  Majesty  had  in  Canada. 

Nobody,  however,  had  the  effrontery  to  mention  Guy  Johnson 
in  my  presence,  but  Ensign  Moucher  pretended  to  discuss  a  prob- 
able return  of  old  John  Butler  and  of  his  son  Walter  to  our 
neighborhood, — to  hoodwink  me,  I  think, — but  his  mealy  manner 
and  the  false  face  he  pulled  made  me  the  more  wary. 

The  wipe  burned  in  Hiakatoo,  but  he  never  looked  toward  me 
nor  directly  at  anybody  out  of  his  blank  red  eyes  of  a  panther. 


46  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

Sir  John  had  become  a  little  drunk  and  slopped  his  wine-glass, 
but  the  wintry  smile  glimmered  on  his  thin  lips  as  though  some 
secret  thought  contented  him,  and  he  was  ever  whispering  with 
Captain  Watts. 

But  he  spoke  always  of  the  coming  summer  and  of  his  cattle 
and  fields  and  the  pursuits  of  peace,  saying  that  he  had  no  interest 
in  Haldimand  nor  in  any  kinsmen  who  had  fled  Tryon;  and  that 
all  he  desired  was  to  be  let  alone  at  the  Hall,  and  not  bothered 
by  Phil  Schuyler. 

"For,"  says  he,  emptying  his  glass  with  unsteady  hand,  "I've 
enough  to  do  to  feed  my  family  and  my  servants  and  collect  my 
rents;  and  I'm  damned  if  I  can  do  it  unless  those  excitable  gen- 
tlemen in  Albany  mind  their  own  business  as  diligently  as  I  wish 
to  mind  mine." 

"Surely,  Sir  John,"  said  I,  "nobody  wishes  to  annoy  you,  be- 
cause it  is  the  universal  desire  that  you  remain.  And,  as  you  have 
pledged  your  honour  to  do  so,  only  a  fool  would  attempt  to  make 
more  difficult  your  position  among  us." 

"Oh,  there  are  fools,  too,"  said  he  in  his  slow  voice.  "There 
were  fools  who  supposed  that  the  Six  Nations  would  not  resent  ill 
treatment  meeted  out  to  Guy  Johnson."  His  cold  gaze  rested  for 
a  second  upon  Hiakatoo,  then  swept  elsewhere. 

Preoccupied,  I  heard  Claudia's  voice  in  my  ear: 

"Do  you  take  no  pleasure  any  longer  in  looking  at  me,  Jack? 
You  have  paid  me  very  scant  notice  tonight." 

I  turned,  smilingly  made  her  a  compliment,  and  she  was  now 
gazing  into  the  little  looking-glass  set  in  the  handle  of  her  French 
fan,  and  her  dimpled  hand  busy  with  her  hair. 

"Polly's  Irish  maid  dressed  my  hair,"  she  remarked.  "I  would 
to  God  I  had  as  clever  a  wench.  Could  you  discover  one  to  wait 
on  me?" 

Hare,  who  had  no  warrant  for  familiarity,  as  far  as  I  was  con- 
cerned, nevertheless  called  out  with  a  laugh  that  I  knew  every 
wench  in  the  countryside  and  should  find  a  pretty  one  very  easily 
to  serve  Claud'ia. 

Which  pleasantry  did  not  please  me;  but  Ensign  Moucher  and 
young  Watts  bore  him  out,  and  they  all  fell  a-laughing,  discussing 
with  little  decency  such  wenches  as  the  two  Wormwood  girls  near 
Fish  House,  and  Betsy  and  Jessica  Browse — maids  who  were 
pretty  and  full  of  gaiety  at  dance  or  frolic,  and  perhaps  a  trifle  free 
in  manners,  but  of  whom  I  knew  no  evil  and  believed  none  what- 
ever the  malicious  gossip  concerning  them. 

The  gallantries  of  such  men  as  Sir  John  and  Walter  Butler  were 


A  SUPPER  47 

known  to  everybody  in  the  country;  and  so  were  the  carryings  on 
of  all  the  younger  gentry  and  the  officers  from  Johnstown  to 
Albany.  Young  girls'  names — the  daughters  of  tenants,  settlers, 
farmers,  were  bandied  about  carelessly  enough;  and  the  names  of 
those  famed  for  beauty,  or  a  lively  disposition,  had  become  more 
or  less  familiar  to  me. 

Yet,  for  myself,  my  escapades  had  been  harmless  enough — a 
pretty  maid  kissed  at  a  quilting,  perhaps;  another  courted  lightly 
at  a  barn-romp;  a  laughing  tavern  wench  caressed  en  passant,  but 
no  evil  thought  of  it  and  nothing  to  regret — no  need  to  remember 
aught  that  could  start  a  tear  in  any  woman's  eyes. 

Watts  said  to  Claudia :  "There  is  a  maid  at  Caughnawaga  who 
serves  old  Douw  Fonda — a  Scotch  girl,  who  might  serve  you  as 
well  as  Flora  cares  for  my  sister." 

"Penelope  Grant!"  exclaims  Hare  with  an  oath.  Whereat  these 
three  young  men  fell  a-laughing,  and  even  Sir  John  leered. 

I  had  heard  her  name  and  that  the  careless  young  gallants  of 
the  country  were  all  after  this  young  Scotch  girl,  servant  to  Douw 
Fonda — but  I  had  never  seen  her. 

"She  lives  with  the  old  gentleman,  does  she  not?"  inquired 
Claudia  with  a  shrug. 

"She  cares  for  him,  dresses  him,  cooks  for  him,  reads  to  him, 
sews,  mends,  lights  him  to  bed  and  tucks  him  in,"  said  Hare. 
"My  God,  what  a  wife  she'd  make  for  a  farmer !  Or  a  mistress  for 
a  gentleman." 

"A  wench  I  would  employ  very  gladly,"  quoth  Claudia,  frowning. 
"Could  you  get  her  ear,  Jack,  and  fetch  her?" 

"Take  her  from  Douw  Fonda?"  I  exclaimed  in  surprise. 

"The  old  man  is  like  to  die  any  moment,"  remarked  Watts. 

"Besides,"  said  Moucher,  "lae  has  scores  of  kinsmen  and  their 
women  to  take  him  in  charge." 

"She's  a  pretty  bit  o'  baggage,"  said  Sir  John  drunkenly.  "If 
you  but  kiss  the  little  slut  she  looks  at  you  like  a  silly  kitten, 
and,  I  think,  with  no  more  sense  or  comprehension." 

Captain  Watts  darted  an  angry  look  at  his  brother-in-law  but 
said  nothing. 

Lady  Johnson's  features  were  burning  and  her  lip  quivered,  but 
she  forced  a  laugh,  saying  that  her  husband  could  have  judged 
only  by  hearsay,  and  that  the  Scotch  girl's  reputation  was  still 
very  good  in  the  country. 

"Somebody'll  get  her,"  retorted  Sir  John,  thickly,  "for  they're 

all  a-pestering — Walter  Butler,  too,  when  he  was  here, — and  your 

'brother,  and  Hare  and  Moucher  yonder.    The  little  slut  has  yellow 


48  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

hair,  but  she's  too  damned  thin! "  he  hiccoughed  and  upset 

his  wine;  and  a  servant  wiped  his  neck-cloth  and  his  silk  and 
silver  waistcoat  while  he,  with  wagging  and  unsteady  head,  gazed 
gravely  down  at  the  damage  done. 

Claudia  set  her  lips  to  my  ear:  "The  beast! — to  affront  his 
wife!"  she  whispered.  "Tell  me,  do  you,  also,  go  about  your  rustic 
gallantries  in  the  shameful  manner  of  these  educated  and 
Christian  gentlemen?" 

"I  seek  no  woman's  destruction,"  said  I  drily. 

"Not  even  mine?"  She  laughed  as  I  reddened,  and  tapped  me 
with  her  fan. 

"If  our  young  men  do  not  turn  this  Scotch  girl's  head  with  their 
philandering,  send  her  to  me  and  I  will  use  her  kindly." 

"You  would  not  seduce  her  from  an  old  and  almost  helpless  man 
who  needs  her?"  I  demanded. 

"I  find  my  servants  where  I  can  in  such  days  as  these,"  said 
she  coolly.  "And  there  are  plenty  to  care  for  old  Douw  Fonda  in 
Caughnawaga,  but  only  an  accomplished  wench  like  Penelope 
Grant  would  I  trust  to  do  my  hair  and  lace  me.  Will  you  send 
this  girl  to  me?" 

"No,  I  won't,"  said  I  bluntly.  "I  shall  not  charge  myself  with 
such  an  errand,  even  for  you.  It  is  not  a  decent  thing  you  ask 
of  me  or  of  the  wench,  either." 

"It  is  decent,"  retorted  Claudia  pettishly.  "If  she's  as  pretty 
a  baggage  as  is  reported,  some  of  our  young  fools  will  never  let 
her  alone  until  one  among  them  turns  her  silly  head.  Whereas  the 
girl  would  be  safe  with  me." 

"That  is  not  my  affair,"  I  remarked. 

"Do  you  wish  her  harm  ?" 

"I  tell  you  she  is  no  concern  of  mine.  And  if  she's  not  a  hope- 
less fool  she'll  know  how  to  trust  the  gentry  of  County  Tryon." 

"You  are  of  them,  too,  Jack,"  she  said  maliciously. 

"I  am  a  plain  farmer  and  I  trouble  no  woman." 

"You  trouble  me,"  she  insisted  sweetly. 

I  laughed,  not  agreeably. 

"You  do  so,"  she  repeated.  "I  would  you  had  courage  to  court 
me  again." 

"Do  you  mean  courage  or  inclination,  Claudia?" 

She  gave  me  a  melting  look,  very  sweet,  and  a  trifle  sad. 

<fWith  patience,"  she  murmured,  "you  might  awaken  both  our 
hearts." 

"I  know  well  what  I'd  awaken  in  you,"  said  I;  'Td  awaken  the 
devil.  No;  I've  had  my  chance." 


A  SUPPER  49 

She  sighed,  still  looking  at  me,  and  I  awaited  her  further  as- 
sault, grimly  armed  with  memories. 

But  ere  she  could  speak,  Hiakatoo  lurched  to  his  feet  and  stood 
towering  there  unsteadily,  his  burning  gaze  fixed  on  space. 

Whereat  Sir  John,  now  very  tight  and  very  drowsy,  opened  owl- 
ish eyes ;  and  Hare  took  the  Seneca  by  the  arm. 

"If  you  desire  to  go,"  said  he,  "here  are  three  of  us  ready  to 
ride  beside  you." 

Moucher,  too,  stood  up,  and  so  did  Captain  Watts;  but  they 
were  not  in  their  cups.  Watts  took  Hiakatoo's  blanket  from  a 
servant  and  cast  it  over  the  tall  warrior's  shoulders. 

"The  Western  Gate  of  the  Confederacy  lies  unguarded,"  ex- 
plained Hare  to  us  all,  in  his  frank,  amiable  manner.  "The  great 
Gate  Keeper,  Hiakatoo,  bids  you  all  farewell.  Duty  calls  him 
toward  the  setting  sun." 

All  had  now  risen  from  the  table.  Hiakatoo  lurched  past  us  and 
out  into  the  hallway;  Hare  and  Moucher  and  Watts  took  smiling 
leave  of  Sir  John;  the  ladies  gave  them  all  a  courteous  farewell. 
Hare,  passing,  said  to  me: 

"To  any  who  enquire  you  can  answer  pat  enough  to  make  an 
end  to  foolish  rumours  concerning  any  meditated  flight  of  this 
family." 

"My  answer,"  said  I  quietly,  "is  always  the  same:  Sir  William's 
son  has  given  his  parole." 

They  went  out  after  their  Indian,  which  disturbed  me  greatly, 
as  I  could  not  account  for  Hiakatoo's  presence  at  Johnstown,  and 
I  was  ill  at  ease  seeing  him  so  apparently  in  charge  of  three  known 
Tories,  and  one  of  them  a  deputy  of  Guy  Johnson. 

However,  I  took  my  leave  of  Sir  John,  who  gave  me  a  wavering 
hand  and  stared  at  me  blankly.  Then  I  kissed  the  ladies'  hands 
and  went  out  to  the  porch  where  Billy  waited  with  my  mare,  Kaya. 

Lady  Johnson  came  to  the  door  as  I  mounted. 

"Don't  forget  us  when  again  you  are  in  Johnstown,"  she  said. 

Claudia,  too,  appeared  and  stepped  daintily  out  on  the  dewy 
grass,  lifting  her  petticoat. 

"What  a  witching  night,"  she  exclaimed  mischievously,  " — what 
a  night  for  love!  Do  you  mark  the  young  moon,  Jack,  and  how 
all  the  dark  is  saturated  with  a  sweet  smell  of  new  buds?" 

'1  mark  it  all,"  said  I,  laughing,  "and,  as  for  love,  why,  I  love 
it  all,  Claudia, — moon,  darkness,  scent  of  young  leaves,  the  far 
forest  still  as  death,  and  the  noise  of  the  brook  yonder." 

"I  meant  a  sweeter  love,"  quoth  she,  coming  to  my  stirrup  and 
'laying  both  hands  upon  my  saddle. 


50  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

"There  is  no  sweeter  love,"  said  I,  still  laughing,  " — none  hap- 
pier than  the  love  of  this  silvery  world  of  night  which  God  made 
to  heal  us  of  the  blows  of  day." 

"Whither  do  you  ride,  Jack?" 

"Homeward." 

"To  Fonda's  Bush?" 

"Yes." 

"Directly  home?" 

"I  have  a  comrade "  said  I.  "He  awaits  me  on  the  May- 
field  Eoad." 

"Why  do  you  ride  by  Mayfield  ?" 

"Because  he  waits  for  me  there." 

"Why,  Jack?" 

"He  has  friends  to  visit " 

"At  Mayfield?" 

"At  Pigeon-Wood,"  I  muttered. 

"More  gallantry !"  she  said,  tossing  her  head.  "But  young  men 
must  have  their  fling,  and  I  am  not  jealous  of  Betsy  Browse  or  of 
her  pretty  sister,  so  that  you  ride  not  toward  Caughnawaga — 

"What?" 

"To  see  this  rustic  beauty,  Penelope  Grant " 

"Have  I  not  refused  to  seek  her  for  you  ?"  I  demanded. 

"Yes,  but  not  for  yourself,  Jack!  Curiosity  killed  a  cat  and 
started  a  young  man  on  his  travels!" 

Exasperated  by  her  malice  I  struck  my  mare's  flanks  with  moc- 
casined  heels;  and  as  I  rode  out  into  the  darkness  Claudia's  gaily 
mocking  laugh  floated  after  me  on  the  still,  sweet  air. 


CHAPTEK  VI 

RUSTIC  GALLANTRY 

fTlHEKE  were  few  lanterns  and  fewer  candle  lights  in  Johns- 
X  town ;  sober  folk  seemed  to  be  already  abed ;  only  a  constable, 
Hugh  HcMonts,  stood  in  the  main  street,  leaning  upon  his  pike 
as  I  followed  the  new  moon  out  of  town  and  down  into  a  dark 
and  lovely  land  where  all  was  still  and  fragrant  and  dim  as  the 
dreams  of  those  who  lie  down  contented  with  the  world. 

Now,  as  I  jogged  along  on  my  mare,  Kaya,  over  a  well-levelled 
road,  my  mind  was  very  full  of  what  I  liad  seen  and  heard  at 
Johnson  Hall. 

One  thing  seemed  clear  to  me;  there  could  be  no  foundation  for 
any  untoward  rumours  regarding  Sir  John, — no  fear  that  he  meant 
to  shame  his  honoured  name  and  flee  to  Canada  to  join  Guy  John- 
son and  his  Indians  and  the  Tryon  County  Tories  who  already 
had  fled. 

No;  Sir  John  was  quietly  planning  his  summer  farming.  All 
seemed  tranquil  at  the  Hall.  And  I  could  not  find  it  in  my  nature 
to  doubt  his  pledged  word,  nor  believe  that  he  was  plotting  mis- 
chief. 

Still,  it  had  staggered  me  somewhat  to  see  Hiakatoo  there  in  his 
ceremonial  paint,  as  though  the  fire  were  still  burning  at  Onon- 
daga.  But  I  concluded  that  the  Seneca  War  Chief  had  come  on 
some  private  affair  and  not  for  his  nation,  because  a  chief  does 
not  travel  alone  upon  a  ceremonial  mission.  No;  this  Indian 
had  arrived  to  talk  privately  with  Hare,  who,  no  doubt,  now  rep- 
resented Guy  Johnson's  late  authority  among  the  Johnstown 
Tories. 

Thinking  over  these  matters,  I  jogged  into  the  Mayfield  road; 
and  as  I  passed  in  between  the  tall  wayside  bushes,  without  any 
warning  at  all  two  shadowy  horsemen  rode  out  in  front  of  me  and 
threw  their  horses  across  my  path,  blocking  it. 

Instantly  my  hand  flew  to  my  hatchet,  but  at  that  same  moment 
tone  of  the  tall  riders  laughed,  and  I  let  go  my  war-axe,  ashamed. 

"It's  John  Drogue!"  said  a  voice  I  recognized,  as  I  pushed  my 

51 


52  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

mare  close  to  them  and  peered  into  their  faces;  and  I  discovered 
that  these  riders  were  two  neighbors  of  mine,  Godfrey  Shew  of 
Fish  House,  and  Joe  de  Golyer  of  Varick's. 

"What  frolic  is  this?"  I  demanded,  annoyed  to  see  their  big 
pistols  resting  on  their  thighs  and  their  belted  hatchets  loosened 
from  the  fringed  sheaths. 

"No  frolic,"  answered  Shew  soberly,  "though  Joe  may  find  it  a 
matter  for  his  French  mirth." 

"Why  do  you  stop  folk  at  night  on  the  King's  highway?"  I  in- 
quired curiously  of  de  Golyer. 

"Voyons,  1'ami  Jean,"  he  replied  gaily,  "Sir  Johnson  and  his 
Scottish  bare-shanks,  they  have  long  time  stop  us  on  their  sacre 
King^s  highway.  Now,  in  our  turn,  we  stop  them,  by  gar!  Oui, 
nom  de  dieu !  And  we  shall  see  what  we  shall  see,  and  we  shall 
catch  in  our  little  trap  what  shall  step  into  it,  pardieu!" 

Shew  said  in  his  heavy  voice:  "Our  authorities  in  Albany  have 
concluded  to  watch,  for  smuggled  arms,  the  roads  leading  to  Johns- 
town, Mr.  Drogue." 

"Do  they  fear  treachery  at  the  Hall?" 

"They  do  not  know  what  is  going  on  at  the  Hall.  But  there  are 
rumours  abroad  concerning  the  running  in  of  arms  for  the  High- 
landers, and  the  constant  passing  of  messengers  between  Canada 
and  Johnstown." 

"I  have  but  left  the  Hall,"  said  I.  "I  saw  nothing  to  warrant 
suspicion."  And  I  told  them  who  were  there  and  how  they  con- 
ducted at  supper. 

Shew  said  with  ap  oath  that  Lieutenant  Hare  was  a  dangerous 
man,  and  that  he  hoped  a  warrant  for  him  would  be  issued. 

"As  for  the  Indian,  Hiakatoo,"  he  went  on,  "he's  a  surly  and 
cunning  animal,  and  a  fierce  one  as  are  all  Senecas.  I  do  not 
know  what  has  brought  him  to  Johnstown,  nor  why  Moucher  was 
there,  nor  Steve  Watts." 

"Young  Watts,  no  doubt,  came  to  visit  his  sister,"  said  I. 
"That  is  natural,  Mr.  Shew." 

"Oh,  no  doubt,  no  doubt,"  grumbled  Shew.  "You,  Mr.  Drogue, 
are  one  of  those  gentlemen  who  seem  trustful  of  the  honour  of  all 
gentlemen.  And  for  every  gentleman  who  is  one,  the  next  is  a 
blackguard.  I  do  not  contradict  you.  No,  sir.  But  we  plain  folk 
of  Tryon  think  it  wisdom  to  watch  gentlemen  like  Sir  John 
Johnson." 

"I  am  as  plain  a  man  as  you  are,"  said  I,  "but  I  am  not  able  to 
doubt  the  word  of  honour  given  by  the  son  of  Sir  William 
Johnson." 


EUSTIC  GALLANTRY  53 

De  Golyer  laughed  and  asked  me  which  way  I  rode,  and  I  told 
him. 

"Nick  Stoner  also  went  Mayfield  way,"  said  Shew  with  a  shrug. 
'1  think  he  unsaddled  at  Pigeon- Wood." 

They  wheeled  their  horses  into  the  bushes  with  gestures  of 
adieu;  I  shook  my  bridle,  and  my  mare  galloped  out  into  the 
sandy  road  again. 

The  sky  was  very  bright  with  that  sweet  springtime  lustre  which 
comes  not  alone  from  the  moon  but  also  from  a  million  million 
unseen  stars,  all  a-shining  behind  the  purple  veil  of  night. 

Presently  I  heard  the  Mayfield  creek  babbling  like  a  dozen  laugh- 
ing lasses,  and  rode  along  the  bushy  banks  looking  up  at  the  moun- 
tains to  the  north. 

They  are  friendly  little  mountains  which  we  call  the  Mayfield 
Hills,  all  rising  into  purple  points  against  the  sky,  like  the  waves 
on  Lake  Ontario,  and  so  tumbling  northward  into  the  grim  jaws 
of  the  Adirondacks,  which  are  different — not  sinister,  perhaps,  but 
grim  and  stolid  peaks,  ever  on  guard  along  the  Northern  wil- 
derness. 

Long,  still  reaches  of  the  creek  stretched  away,  unstarred  by  ris- 
ing trout  because  of  the  lateness  of  the  night.  Only  a  heron's 
croak  sounded  in  the  darkness;  there  were  no  lights  where  I  knew 
the  Mayfield  settlement  to  be. 

Already  I  saw  the  grist  mill,  with  its  dusky  wheel  motionless; 
and,  to  the  left,  a  frame  house  or  two  and  several  log-houses  set 
in  cleared  meadows,  where  the  vast  ramparts  of  the  forest  had 
been  cut  away. 

Now,  there  was  a  mile  to  gallop  eastward  along  a  wet  path 
toward  Summer  House  Point;  and  in  a  little  while  I  saw  the  long, 
low  house  called  Pigeon-Wood,  which  sat  astride  o'  the  old  Iroquois 
war  trail  to  the  Sacandaga  and  the  Canadas. 

It  was  a  heavy  house  of  hewn  timber  and  smoothed  with  our 
blue  clay,  which  cuts  the  sandy  loam  of  Tryon  in  great  streaks. 

There  was  no  light  in  the  windows,  but  the  milky  lustre  of  the 
heavens  flooded  all,  and  there,  upon  the  rail  fence,  I  did  see  Nick 
Stoner  a-kissing  of  Betsy  Browse. 

They  heard  my  horse  and  fluttered  down  from  the  fence  like  two 
robins,  as  I  pulled  up  and  dismounted. 

''Hush!"  said  the  girl,  who  was  bare  of  feet  and  her  gingham 
scarce  pinned  decently;  and  laid  her  finger  on  her  lips  as  she 
glanced  toward  the  house. 

"The  old  man  is  back,"  quoth  Nick,  sliding  a  graceless  arm 
around  her.  "But  he  sleeps  like  an  ox."  And,  to  Betsy,  "Whistle 


54  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

thy  little  sister  from  her  nest,  sweetheart.  For  there  are  no 
gallants  in  Tryon  to  match  with  my  comrade,  John  Drogue!" 

Which  did  not  please  me  to  hear,  for  I  had  small  mind  for  rustic 
gallantry;  but  Martha  pursed  her  lips  and  whistled  thrice;  and 
presently  the  house  door  opened  without  any  noise. 

She  was  a  healthy,  glowing  wench,  half  confident,  half  coquette, 
like  a  playful  forest  thing  in  springtime,  when  all  things  mate. 

And  her  sister,  Jessica,  was  like  her,  only  slimmer,  who  came 
across  the  starlit  grass  rubbing  both  eyes  with  her  little  fists,  like 
a  child  roused  from  sleep, — a  shy,  smiling,  red-lipped  thing,  who 
gave  me  her  hand  and  yawned. 

And  presently  went  to  where  my  mare  stood  to  pet  her  and  pull 
the  new,  wet  grass  and  feed  her  tid-bits. 

I  did  not  feel  awkward,  yet  knew  not  how  to  conduct  or  what 
might  be  expected  of  me  at  this  star-dim  rendezvous  with  a  sleepy, 
woodland  beauty. 

But  she  seemed  in  nowise  disconcerted  after  a  word  or  two; 
drew  my  arm  about  her;  put  up  her  red  mouth  to  be  kissed,  and 
then  begged  to  be  lifted  to  my  saddle. 

Here  she  sat  astride  and  laughed  down  at  me  through  her 
tangled  hair.  And: 

"I  have  a  mind  to  gallop  to  Fish  House,"  said  she,  "only  that  it 
might  prove  a  lonely  jaunt." 

"Shall  I  come,  Jessica?" 

"Will  you  do  so?" 

I  waited  till  the  blood  cooled  in  my  veins ;  and  by  that  time  she 
had  forgotten  what  she  had  been  about — like  any  other  forest 
bird. 

"You  have  a  fine  mare,  Mr.  Drogue,"  said  she,  gently  caressing 
Kaya  with  her  naked  heels.  "No  rider  better  mounted  passes 
Pigeon-Wood." 

"Do  many  riders  pass,  Jessica?" 

"Sir  John's  company  between  Fish  House  and  the  Hall." 

"Any  others  lately?" 

"Yes,  there  are  horsemen  who  ride  swiftly  at  night.  We  hear 
them." 

"Who  may  they  be?" 

"I  do  not  know,  sir." 

"Sir  John's  people?" 

"Very  like." 

"Coming  from  the  North?" 

"Yes,  from  the  North." 

"Have  they  waggons  to  escort?" 


RUSTIC  GALLANTRY  55 

"I  have  heard  waggons,  too." 

"Lately?" 

"Yes."  She  leaned  down  from  the  saddle  and  rested  both  hands 
on  my  shoulders : 

"Have  you  no  better  way  to  please  than  in  catechizing  me,  John 
Drogue?"  she  laughed.  "Do  you  know  what  lips  were  fashioned 
for  except  words  ?" 

I  kissed  her,  and,  still  resting  her  hands  on  my  shoulders,  she 
looked  down  into  my  eyes. 

"Are  you  of  Sir  John's  people?"  she  asked. 

"Of  them,  perhaps,  but  not  now  with  them,  Jessica." 

"Oh.    The  other  party?" 

"Yes." 

"You!    A  Boston  man?" 

"Nick  and  I,  both." 

"Why?" 

"Because  we  design  to  live  as  free  as  God  made  us,  and  not  as 
king-fashioned  slaves." 

"Oh,  la!"  quoth  she,  opening  her  eyes  wide,  "you  use  very 
mighty  words  to  me,  Mr.  Drogue.  There  are  young  men  in  red 
coats  and  gilt  lace  on  their  hats  who  would  call  you  rebel." 

"I  am." 

"No,"  she  whispered,  putting  both  arms  around  my  neck.  "You 
are  a  pretty  boy  and  no  Yankee!  I  do  not  wish  you  to  be  a 
Boston  rebel." 

"Are  all  your  lovers  King's  men  ?" 

"My  lovers?" 

"Yes." 

"Are  you  one?" 

At  which  I  laughed  and  lifted  the  saucy  wench  from  my  saddle, 
and  stood  so  in  the  starlight,  her  arms  still  around  my  neck. 

"No,"  said  I,  "I  never  had  a  sweetheart,  and,  indeed,  would  not 
know  how  to  conduct " 

"We  could  learn." 

But  I  only  laughed,  disengaging  her  arms,  and  passing  my  own 
around  her  supple  waist. 

"Listen,"  said  I,  "Nick  and  I  mean  no  harm  in  a  starlit  frolic, 
where  we  tarry  for  a  kiss  from  a  pretty  maid." 

"No  harm?" 

"Neither  that  nor  better,  Jessica.  Nor  do  you ;  and  I  know  that 
very  well.  With  me  it's  a  laugh  and  a  kiss  and  a  laugh;  and  into 
my  stirrups  and  off.  .  .  .  And  you  are  young  and  soft  and  sweet 


56  THE  LITTLE  BED  FOOT 

as  new  maple-sap  in  the  snow.  But  if  you  dream  like  other  little 
birds,  of  nesting " 

"May  a  lass  not  dream  in  springtime  ?" 

"Surely.    But  let  it  end  so,  too." 

"In  dreams." 

"It  is  wiser." 

"There  is  no  wisdom  in  me,  pretty  boy  in  buckskin.  And  I  love 
thrums  better  than  red-coats  and  lace." 

"Love  spinning  better  than  either!" 

"Oh,  la!  He  preaches  of  wheels  and  spindles  when  my  mouth 
aches  for  a  kiss !" 

"And  mine,"  said  I,  " — but  my  legs  ache  more  for  my  saddle; 
and  I  must  go." 

At  that  moment  when  I  said  adieu  with  my  lips,  and  she  did 
not  mean  to  unlink  her  arms,  came  Nick  on  noiseless  tread  to 
twitch  my  arm.  And,  "Look,"  said  he,  pointing  toward  the  long, 
low  rampart  of  Maxon  Ridge. 

I  turned,  my  hand  still  retaining  Jessica's:  and  saw  the  Iro- 
quois  signal-flame  mount  thin  and  high,  tremble,  burn  red  against 
the  stars,  then  die  there  in  the  darkness. 

Northward  another  flame  reddened  on  the  hills,  then  another, 
fire  answering  fire. 

"What  the  devil  is  this?"  growled  Nick.  "These  are  no  times 
for  Indians  to  talk  to  one  another  with  fire." 

"Get  into  your  saddle,"  said  I,  "and  we  shall  ride  by  Yarick^s, 
for  I've  a  mind  to  see  what  will-o'-the-wisps  may  be  a-dancing  over 
the  great  Vlaie!" 

So  the  tall  lad  took  his  leave  of  hia  little  pigeon  of  Pigeon- 
Wood,  who  seemed  far  from  willing  to  let  him  loose;  and  I  made 
my  adieux  to  Jessica,  who  stood  a-pouting;  and  we  mounted  and 
set  off  at  a  gallop  for  Varick's,  by  way  of  Summer  House  Point. 

I  could  not  be  certain,  but  it  seemed  to  me  that  there  was  a 
light  at  the  Point,  which  came  through  the  crescents  from  behind 
closed  shutters;  but  that  was  within  reason,  Sir  John  being  at 
liberty  to  keep  open  the  hunting  lodge  if  he  chose. 

As  for  the  Drowned  Lands,  as  far  as  we  could  see  through  the 
night  there  was  not  a  spark  over  that  desolate  wilderness. 

The  Mohawk  fires  on  the  hills,  too,  had  died  out  Fish  House, 
if  still  burning  candles,  was  too  far  away  to  see;  we  galloped 
through  Varick's,  past  the  mill  where,  from  its  rocky  walls, 
Frenchman's  Creek  roared  under  the  stars ;  then  turned  west  along 
the  Brent-Meester's  trail  toward  Fonda's  Bush  and  home. 


RUSTIC  GALLANTRY  57 

"Those  Iroquois  fires  trouble  me  mightily,"  quoth  Nick,  pushing 
his  lank  horse  forward  beside  my  mare. 

"And  me,"  said  I. 

"Why  should  they  talk  with  fire  on  the  night  Hiakatoo  comes 
to  the  H^U?" 

"I  do  not  know,"  said  I.  "But  when  I  am  home  I  shall  write  it 
in  a  letter  to  Albany  that  this  night  the  Mohawks  have  talked 
among  themselves  with  fire,  and  that  a  Seneca  was  present." 

"And  that  mealy-mouthed  Ensign,  Moucher;  and  Hare  and 
Steve  Watts!" 

"I  shall  so  write  it,"  said  I,  very  seriously. 

"Good!"  cried  he  with  a  jolly  slap  on  his  horse's  neck.  "But 
the  sweeter  part  of  this  night's  frolic  you  and  I  shall  carry  locked 
in  our  breasts.  Eh,  John?  By  heaven,  is  she  not  fresh  and  pink 
as  a  dewy  strawberry  in  June — my  pretty  little  wench?  Is  she 
not  apt  as  a  school-learned  lass  with  any  new  lesson  a  man  chooses 
to  teach  ?" 

"Yes,  too  apt,  perhaps,"  said  I,  shaking  my  head  but  laughing. 
"But  I  think  they  have  had  already  a  lesson  or  two  in  such  frolics, 
less  innocent,  perhaps,  than  the  lesson  we  gave." 

"I'll  break  the  back  of  any  red-coat  who  stops  at  Pigeon- Wood !" 
cried  Nick  Stoner  with  an  oath.  "Yes,  red-coat  or  any  other 
colour,  either!" 

"You  would  not  take  our  frolic  seriously,  would  you,  Nick?" 

"I  take  all  frolics  seriously,"  said  he  with  a  gay  laugh,  smiting 
both  thighs,  and  his  bridle  loose.  "Where  I  place  my  mark  with 
my  proper  lips,  let  roving  gallants  read  and  all  roysterers  beware  1 
— even  though  I  so  mark  a  dozen  pretty  does !" 

"A  very  Turk,"  said  I. 

"An  antlered  stag  in  the  blue-coat  that  brooks  no  other  near 
his  herd !"  cried  he  with  a  burst  of  laughter.  And  fell  to  smiting 
his  thighs  and  tossing  up  both  arms,  riding  like  a  very  centaur 
there,  with  his  hair  flowing  and  his  thrums  streaming  in  the  star- 
light. 

And,  "Lord  God  of  Battles!"  he  cried  out  to  the  stars,  stretch- 
ing up  his  powerful  young  arms.  "Thou  knowest  how  I  could  love 
tonight;  but  dost  Thou  know,  also,  how  I  could  fight  if  I  had  only 
a  foe  to  destroy  with  these  two  empty  hands !" 

"Thou  murderous  Turk !"  I  cried  in  his  ear.  'Tray,  rather,  that 
there  shall  be  bo  war,  and  no  foe  more  deadly  than  the  pretty 
wench  of  Pigeon- Wood !" 

"Love  or  war,  I  care  not !"  he  shouted  in  his  springtide  frenzy, 
galloping  there  unbridled,  his  lean  young  face  in  the  wind.  "But 


58  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

God  send  the  one  or  the  other  to  me  very  quickly — or  love  or  war 
— for  I  need  more  than  a  plow  or  axe  to  content  my  soul  afire!" 

"Idiot!"  said  I,  "have  done  a-yelling!  You  wake  every  owl  in 
the  bush!" 

And  above  his  youth-maddened  laughter  I  heard  the  weird  yelp- 
ing of  the  forest  owls  as  though  the  Six  Nations  already  were  in 
their  paint,  and  blood  fouled  every  trail. 

So  we  galloped  into  Fonda's  Bush,  pulling  up  before  my  door; 
but  Nick  would  not  stay  the  night  and  must  needs  gallop  on  to 
his  own  log  house,  where  he  could  blanket  and  stall  his  tired  and 
sweating  horse — I  owning  only  the  one  warm  stall. 

"Well,"  says  he,  still  slapping  his  thighs  where  he  sat  his  saddle 
as  I  dismounted,  and  his  young  face  still  aglow  in  the  dim,  silvery 
light,  " — well,  John,  I  shall  ride  again,  one  day,  to  Pigeon- Wood. 
Will  you  ride  with  me?" 

"I  think  not." 

"And  why?" 

But,  standing  by  my  door,  bridle  in  hand,  I  slowly  shook  my 
head. 

"There  is  no  prettier  bit  o'  baggage  in  County  Tryon  than  Jes- 
sica Browse,"  he  insisted — "unless,  perhaps,  it  be  that  Scotch  girl 
at  Caughnawaga,  whom  all  the  red-coats  buzz  about  like  sap  flies 
around  a  pan." 

"And  who  may  this  Scotch  lassie  be?"  I  asked  with  a  smile, 
and  busy,  now,  unsaddling. 

"I  mean  the  new  servant  to  old  Douw  Fonda." 

"I  have  not  noticed  her." 

"You  have  not  sesn  the  Caughnawaga  girl?" 

"No.    I  remain  incurious  concerning  servants,"  said  I,  drily. 

"Is  it  so!"  he  laughed.  "Well,  then, — for  all  that  they  have  a 
right  to  gold  binding  on  their  hats, — the  gay  youth  of  Johnstown, 
yes,  and  of  Schenectady,  too,  have  not  remained  indifferent  to  the 
Scotch  girl  of  Douw  Fonda,  Penelope  Grant!" 

I  shrugged  and  lifted  my  saddle. 

"Every  man  to  his  taste,"  said  I.  "Some  eat  woodchucks,  some 
porcupines,  and  others  the  tail  of  a  beaver.  Venison  smacks 
sweeter  to  me." 

Nick  laughed  again.  "When  she  reads  the  old  man  to  sleep  and 
takes  her  knitting  to  the  porch,  you  should  see  the  ring  of  gallants 
every  afternoon  a-courting  her! — and  their  horses  tied  to  every 
tree  around  the  house  as  at  a  quilting  1 

"But  there's  no  quilting  frolic;  no  supper;  no  dance; — nothing 


59 

more  than  a  yellow-haired  slip  of  a  wench  busy  knitting  there 
in  the  sun,  and  looking  at  none  o'  them  but  intent  on  her  needles 
and  with  that  faint  smile  she  wears " 

"Go  court  her,"  said  I,  laughing;  and  led  my  mare  into  her 
warm  stall.  ^ 

"You'll  court  her  yourself,  one  day!"  he  shouted  after  me,  as 
he  gathered  bridle.  "And  if  you  do,  God  help  you,  John  Drogue, 
for  they  say  she's  a  born  disturber  of  quiet  men's  minds,  and 
mistress  of  a  very  mischievous  and  deadly  art!" 

"What  art?"  I  laughed. 

"The  art  o'  love!"  he  bawled  as  he  rode  off,  slapping  his  thighs 
and  setting  the  moonlit  woods  all  a-ringing  with  his  laughter. 


CHAPTER  VH 

BEFORE  THE    STOKM 

JOHNNY  SILVER  had  ridden  my  mare  to  Varick's  to  be 
shod,  the  evening  previous,  and  was  to  remain  the  night  and 
return  by  noon  to  Fonda's  Bush. 

It  was  the  first  sunny  May  day  of  the  year,  murmurous  with 
bees,  and  a  sweet,  warm  smell  from  woods  and  cleared  lands. 

Already  bluebirds  were  drifting  from  stump  to  stump,  and 
robins,  which  had  arrived  in  April  before  the  snow  melted,  chirped 
in  the  furrows  of  last  autumn's  plowing. 

Also  were  flying  those  frail  little  grass-green  moths,  earliest 
harbingers  of  vernal  weather,  so  that  observing  folk,  versed  in 
the  pretty  signals  which  nature  displays  to  acquaint  us  of  her 
designs,  might  safely  prophesy  soft  skies. 

I  was  standing  in  my  glebe  just  after  sunrise,  gazing  across  my 
great  cleared  field — I  had  but  one  then,  all  else  being  woods — 
and  I  was  thinking  about  my  crops,  how  that  here  should  be  sown 
buckwheat  to  break  and  mellow  last  year's  sod;  and  here  I  should 
plant  corn  and  Indian  squashes,  and  yonder,  God  willing,  pota- 
toes and  beans. 

And  I  remember,  now,  that  I  presently  fell  to  whistling  the 
air  of  "The  Little  Red  Foot,"  while  I  considered  my  future  har- 
vest; and  was  even  planning  to  hire  of  Andrew  Bowman  his 
fine  span  of  white  oxen  for  my  spring  plowing;  when,  of  a  sud- 
den, through  the  May  woods  there  grew  upon  the  air  a  trem- 
bling sound,  distant  and  sad.  Now  it  sounded  louder  as  the 
breeze  stirred;  now  fainter  when  it  shifted,  so  that  a  mournful 
echo  only  throbbed  in  my  ears. 

It  was  the  sound  of  the  iron  bell  ringing  on  the  new  Block 
House  at  Mayfield. 

The  carelessly  whistled  tune  died  upon  my  lips;  my  heart  al- 
most ceased  for  a  moment,  then  violently  beat  the  alarm. 

I  ran  to  a  hemlock  stump  in  the  field,  where  my  loaded  rifle 
rested,  and  took  it  up  and  looked  at  the  priming  powder,  find- 
ing it  dry  and  bright. 

A  strange  stillness  had  fallen  upon  the  forest;  there  was  no 

60 


BEFORE  THE  STORM  61 

sound  save  that  creeping  and  melancholy  quaver  of  the  bell. 
The  birds  had  become  quiet;  the  breeze,  too,  died  away;  and  it 
was  as  though  each  huge  tree  stood  listening,  and  that  no  leaf 
dared  stir. 

As  a  dark  cloud  gliding  between  earth  and  sun  quenches  the 
sky's  calm  brightness,  so  the  bell's  tolling  seemed  to  transform 
the  scene  about  me  to  a  sunless  waste,  through  which  the  dread 
sound  surged  in  waves,  like  the  complaint  of  trees  before  a 
storm. 

Standing  where  my  potatoes  had  been  hoed  the  year  before,  I 
listened  a  moment  longer  to  the  dreary  mourning  of  the  bell, 
my  eyes  roving  along  the  edges  of  the  forest  which,  like  a  high, 
green  rampart,  enclosed  my  cleared  land  on  every  side. 

Then  I  turned  and  went  swiftly  to  my  house,  snatched  blanket 
from  bed,  spread  it  on  the  puncheon  floor,  laid  upon  it  a  sack  of 
new  bullets,  a  new  canister  of  powder,  a  heap  of  buckskin  scraps 
for  wadding,  a  bag  of  salt,  another  of  parched  corn,  a  dozen 
strips  of  smoked  venison. 

Separately  on  the  blanket  beside  these  I  placed  two  pair  of 
woollen  hose,  two  pair  of  new  ankle  moccasins,  an  extra  pair  of 
deer-skin  leggins,  two  cotton  shirts,  a  hunting  shirt  of  doe-skin, 
and  a  fishing  line  and  hooks.  These  things  I  rolled  within  my 
blanket,  making  of  everything  a  strapped  pack. 

Then  I  pulled  on  my  District  Militia  regimentals,  which  same 
was  a  hunting  shirt  of  tow-cloth,  spatter-dashes  of  the  same,  and 
a  felt  hat,  cocked. 

Across  the  breast  of  my  tow-cloth  hunting-shirt  I  slung  a  bul- 
let-pouch, a  powder-horn  and  a  leather  haversack;  seized  my 
light  hatchet  and  hung  it  to  my  belt,  hoisted  the  blanket  pack 
to  my  shoulders  and  strapped  it  there;  and,  picking  up  rifle  and 
hunting  knife,  I  passed  swiftly  out  of  the  house,  fastening  the 
heavy  oaken  door  behind  me  and  wondering  whether  I  should 
ever  return  to  open  it  again. 

The  trodden  forest  trail,  wide  enough  for  a  team  to  pass,  lay 
straight  before  me  due  west,  through  heavy  woods,  to  Andrew 
Bowman's  farm. 

When  I  came  into  the  cleared  land,  I  perceived  Mrs.  Bowman 
washing  clothing  in  a  spring  near  the  door  of  her  log  house,  and 
the  wash  a-bleaching  in  the  early  sun.  When  she  saw  me  she 
called  to  me  across  the  clearing: 

"Have  you  news  for  me,  John  Drogue?" 

"None,"  said  I.     "Where  is  your  man,  Martha?" 

"Gone  away  to  Stoner's  with  pack  and  rifle.    He  is  but  just 


62  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

departed.  Is  it  only  a  drill  call,  or  are  the  Indians  out  at  the 
Lower  Castle?" 

"I  know  nothing,"  said  I.     "Are  you  alone  in  the  house?" 

"A  young  kinswoman,  Penelope  Grant,  servant  to  old  Douw 
Fonda,  arrived  late  last  night  with  my  man  from  Caughnawaga, 
and  is  still  asleep  in  the  loft." 

As  she  spoke  a  girl,  clothed  only  in  her  shift,  came  to  the  open 
door  of  the  log  house.  Her  naked  feet  were  snow-white;  her 
hair,  yellow  as  October-corn,  seemed  very  thick  and  tangled. 

She  stood  blinking  as  though  dazzled,  the  glory  of  the  rising 
sun  in  her  face;  then  the  tolling  of  the  tocsin  swam  to  her 
sleepy  ears,  and  she  started  like  a  wild  thing  when  a  shot  is  fired 
very  far  away. 

And,  "What  is  that  sound?"  she  exclaimed,  staring  about  her; 
and  I  had  never  seen  a  woman's  eyes  so  brown  under  such  yellow 
hair. 

She  stepped  out  into  the  fresh  grass  and  stood  in  the  dew  lis- 
tening, now  gazing  at  the  woods,  now  at  Martha  Bowman,  and 
now  upon  me. 

Speech  came  to  me  with  an  odd  sort  of  anger.  I  said  to  Mrs. 
Bowman,  who  stood  gaping  in  the  sunshine: 

"Where  are  your  wits?  Take  that  child  into  the  house  and 
bar  your  shutters  and  draw  water  for  your  tubs.  And  keep  your 
door  bolted  until  some  of  the  militia  can  return  from  Stoner's." 

"Oh,  my  God,"  said  she,  and  fell  to  snatching  her  wash  from 
the  bushes  and  grass. 

At  that,  the  girl  Penelope  turned  and  looked  at  me.  And  I 
thought  she  was  badly  frightened  until  she  spoke. 

"Young  soldier,"  said  she,  "do  you  know  if  Sir  John  has  fled?" 

"I  know  nothing,"  said  I,  "and  am  like  to  learn  less  if  you 
women  do  not  instantly  go  in  and  bar  your  house." 

"Are  the  Mohawks  out?"  she  asked. 

"Have  I  not  said  I  do  not  know?" 

"Yes,  sir.  .  .  .  But  I  should  have  escort  by  the  shortest  route 
to  Oayadutta " 

"''You  talk  like  a  child,"  said  I,  sharply.  "And  you  seem  scarcely 
more,"  I  added,  turning  away.  But  I  lingered  still  to  see  them 
safely  bolted  in  before  I  departed. 

'"Soldier,"  she  began  timidly;  but  I  interrupted: 

"Go  fill  your  tubs  against  fire-arrows,"  said  I.  "Why  do  you 
loiter?" 

"Because  I  have  great  need  to  return  to  Caughnawaga.  Will 
you  guide  me  the  shortest  way  by  the  woods?" 


BEFORE  THE  STORM  63 

"Do  you  not  hear  that  bell?"  I  demanded  angrily. 

"Yes,  sir,  I  hear  it.     But  I  should  go  to  Cayadutta " 

"And  I  should  answer  that  militia  call,"  said  I  impatiently. 
"Go  in  and  lock  the  house,  I  tell  you !" 

Mrs.  Bowman,  her  arms  full  of  wet  linen,  ran  into  the  house. 
The  girl,  Penelope,  gazed  at  the  woods. 

"I  am  servant  to  a  very  old  man,"  she  said,  twisting  her  linked 
fingers.  "I  can  not  abandon  him!  I  can  not  let  him  remain 
all  alone  at  Cayadutta  Lodge.  Will  you  take  me  to  him?" 

"And  if  I  were  free  of  duty,"  said  I,  "I  would  not  take  you 
or  any  other  woman  into  those  accursed  woods!" 

"Why  not,  sir?" 

"Because  I  do  not  yet  comprehend  what  that  bell  is  telling 
me.  And  if  it  means  that  there  is  a  painted  war-party  out  be- 
tween the  Sacandaga  and  the  Mohawk,  I  shall  not  take  you  to 
Caughnawaga  when  I  return  from  S  toner's,  and  that's  flat!" 

"I  am  not  afraid  to  go,"  said  she.  But  I  think  I  saw  her  shud- 
der; and  her  face  seemed  very  still  and  white.  Then  Mrs.  Bow- 
man ran  out  of  the  house  and  caught  the  girl  by  her  homespun 
shift. 

"Come  indoors!"  she  cried  shrilly,  "or  will  you  have  us  all 
pulling  war  arrows  out  of  our  bodies  while  you  stand  blinking 
at  the  woods  and  gossiping  with  Jack  Drogue?" 

The  girl  shook  herself  free,  and  asked  me  again  to  take  her 
to  Cayadutta  Lodge. 

But  I  had  no  more  time  to  argue,  and  I  flung  my  rifle  to  my 
shoulder  and  started  out  across  the  cleared  land. 

Once  I  looked  back.  And  I  saw  her  still  standing  there,  the 
rising  sun  bright  on  her  tangled  hair,  and  her  naked  feet  shining 
like  silver  in  the  dew-wet  grass. 

By  a  spring  path  I  hastened  to  the  house  of  John  Putman,  and 
found  him  already  gone  and  his  family  drawing  water  and  fas- 
tening shutters. 

His  wife,  Deborah,  called  to  me  saying  that  the  Salisburys 
should  be  warned,  and  I  told  her  that  I  had  already  spoken  to 
the  Bowmans. 

"Your  labour  for  your  pains,  John  Drogue!"  cried  she.  "The 
Bowmans  are  King's  people  and  need  fear  neither  Toay  nor 
Indian!" 

"It  is  unjust  to  say  so,  Deborah,"  I  retorted  warmly.  "Dries 
Bowman  is  already  on  his  way  to  answer  the  militia  call!" 

"Watch  him!"   she  said,  slamming  the  shutters;   and  fell  to 


64  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

scolding  her  children,  who,  poor  things,  were  striving  at  the  well 
with  dripping  bucket  too  heavy  for  their  strength. 

So  I  drew  the  water  they  might  need  if,  indeed,  it  should  prove 
true  that  Little  Abe's  Mohawks  at  the  Lower  Castle  had  painted 
themselves  and  were  broken  loose;  and  then  I  ran  back  along 
the  spring  path  to  the  Salisbury's,  and  found  them  already  well 
bolted  in,  and  their  man  gone  to  Stoner's  with  rifle  and  pack. 

And  now  comes  Johnny  Silver,  who  had  ridden  my  mare  from 
Varick's,  but  had  no  news,  all  being  tranquil  along  Frenchman's 
Creek,  and  nobody  able  to  say  what  the  Block  House  bell  was 
telling  us. 

"Did  you  stable  Kaya?"  I  asked. 

"Oui,  mon  garce!     I  have  bolt  her  in  tight!" 

"Good  heavens,"  said  I,  "she  can  not  remain  bolted  in  to  starve 
if  I  am  sent  on  to  Canada!  Get  you  forward  to  Stoner's  house 
and  say  that  I  delay  only  to  fetch  my  horse!" 

The  stout  little  French  trapper  flung  his  piece  to  his  shoulder 
and  broke  into  a  dog-trot  toward  the  west. 

"Follow  quickly,  Sieur  Jean!"  he  called  gaily.  "By  gar,  I  have 
smell  Iroquois  war  paint  since  ver'  long  time  already,  and  now 
I  smell  him  strong  as  old  dog  fox!" 

I  turned  and  started  back  through  the  woods  as  swiftly  as 
I  could  stride. 

As  1  came  in  sight  of  my  log  house,  I  was  astounded  to  see 
my  mare  out  and  saddled,  and  a  woman  setting  foot  to  stirrup. 
As  I  sprang  out  of  the  edge  of  the  woods  and  ran  toward  her, 
she  wheeled  Kaya,  and  I  saw  that  it  was  the  Caughnawaga  wench 
in  my  saddle  and  upon  my  horse — her  yellow  hair  twisted  up  and 
shining  like  a  Turk's  gold  turban  above  her  bloodless  face. 

"What  do  you  mean!"  I  cried  in  a  fury.  "Dismount  instantly 
from  that  mare !  Do  you  hear  me  ?" 

"I  must  ride  to  Caughnawaga!"  she  called  out,  and  struck  my 
mare  with  both  heels  so  that  the  horse  bounded  away  beyond 
my  reach. 

Exasperated,  I  knew  not  what  to  do,  for  I  could  not  hope  to 
overtake  the  mad  wench  afoot;  and  so  could  only  shout  after 
her. 

However,  she  drew  bridle  and  looked  back;  but  I  dared  not  ad- 
vance from  where  I  stood,  lest  she  gallop  out  o'  hearing  at  the 
first  step. 

"This  is  madness!"  I  called  to  her  across  the  field.  "You  do 
not  know  why  that  bell  is  ringing  at  Mayfield.  A  week  since 
the  Mohawks  were  talking  to  one  another  with  fires  on  all  these 


BEFORE  THE  STORM  65 

hills !  There  may  be  a  war  party  in  yonder  woods !  There 
may  be  more  than  one  betwixt  here  and  Caughnawaga !" 

"I  cannot  desert  Mr.  Fonda  at  such  a  time,"  said  she  with  that 
same  pale  and  frightened  obstinacy  I  had  encountered  at  Bow- 
man's. 

"Do  you  wish  to  steal  my  horse!"  I  demanded. 

"No,  sir.  ...  It  is  not  meant  so.  If  some  one  would  guide 
me  afoot  I  would  be  glad  to  return  to  you  your  horse." 

"Oh.  And  if  not,  then  you  mean  to  ride  there  in  spite  o'  the 
devil.  Is  that  the  situation?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

Had  it  been  any  man  I  would  have  put  a  bullet  in  him;  and 
could  have  easily  marked  him  where  I  pleased.  Never  had  I  been 
in  colder  rage;  never  had  I  felt  so  helpless.  And  every  moment 
I  was  afeard  the  crazy  girl  would  ride  on. 

"Will  you  parley?"  I  shouted. 

"Parley?"  she  repeated.     "How  so,  young  soldier?" 

"In  this  manner,  then:  I  engage  my  honour  not  to  seize  your 
bridle  or  touch  you  or  my  horse  if  you  will  sit  still  till  I  come 
Tip  with  you." 

She  sat  looking  at  me  across  the  fallow  field  in  silence. 

"I  shall  not  use  violence,"  said  I.  "I  shall  try  only  to  find 
some  way  to  serve  you,  and  yet  to  do  my  own  duty,  too." 

"Soldier,"  she  replied  in  a  troubled  voice,  "is  this  the  very 
truth  you  speak?" 

"Have  I  not  engaged  my  honour?"  I  retorted  sharply. 

She  made  no  reply,  but  she  did  not  stir  as  I  advanced,  though 
her  brown  eyes  watched  my  every  step. 

When  I  stood  at  her  stirrup  she  looked  down  at  me  intently, 
and  I  saw  she  was  younger  even  than  I  had  thought,  and  was 
made  more  like  a  smooth,  slim  boy  than  a  woman. 

"You  are  Penelope  Grant,  of  Caughnawaga,"  I  said. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Do  you  know  who  I  am?" 

"No,  sir." 

I  named  myself,  saying  with  a  smile  that  none  of  my  name 
had  ever  broken  faith  in  word  or  deed. 

"Now,"  I  continued,  "that  bell  calls  me  to  duty  as  surely  as 
drum  or  trumpet  ever  summoned  soldier  since  there  were  wars 
on  earth.  I  must  go  to  S  toner's;  I  can  not  guide  you  to  Caugh- 
nawaga through  the  woods  or  take  you  thither  by  road  or  trail. 
And  yet,  if  I  do  not,  you  mean  to  take  my  horse." 

"I  must." 


66  THE  LITTLE  BED  FOOT 

"And  risk  a  Mohawk  war  party  on  the  way?" 

"I— must." 

"That  is  very  brave,"  said  I,  curbing  my  impatience,  "but  not 
wise.  There  are  others  /of  his  kin  to  care  for  old  Douw  Fonda 
if  war  has  truly  come  upon  us  here  in  Tryon  County." 

"Soldier,"  said  she  in  her  still  voice,  which  I  once  thought  had 
been  made  strange  by  fear,  but  now  knew  otherwise — "my  "honour, 
too,  is  engaged.  Mr.  Fonda,  whom  I  serve,  has  made  of  me  more 
than  a  servant.  He  uses  me  as  a  daughter;  offers  to  adopt  me; 
trusts  his  age  and  feebleness  to  me;  looks  to  me  for  every  need, 
every  ministration.  .  .  . 

"Soldier,  I  came  to  Dries  Bowman's  last  night  with  his  con- 
sent, and  gave  him  my  word  to  return  within  a  week.  I  came 
to  Fonda's  Bush  because  Mr.  Fonda  desired  me  to  visit  the  only 
family  in  America  with  whom  I  have  the  slightest  tie  of  kin- 
ship— the  Bowmans. 

"But  if  war  has  come  to  us  here  in  County  Tryon,  then  in- 
stantly my  duty  is  to  this  brave  old  gentleman  who  lives  all 
alone  in  his  house  at  Caughnawaga,  and  nobody  except  servants 
and  black  slaves  to  protect  him  if  danger  comes  to  the  door." 

What  the  girl  said  touched  me;  nor  could  I  discern  in  her 
anything  of  the  coquetry  which  Nick  Stoner's  story  of  her  knitting 
and  her  ring  of  gallants  had  pictured  for  me. 

Surely  here  was  no  rustic  coquette  to  be  flattered  and  courted 
and  bedeviled  by  her  betters — no  country  suck-thumb  to  sit 
a-giggling  at  her  knitting,  surfeited  with  honeyed  words  that 
meant  destruction; — no  wench  to  hang  her  head  and  twiddle 
apron  while  some  pup  of  quality  whispered  in  her  ear  temptations. 

I  said:  "This  is  the  better  way.  Listen.  Ride  my  mare  to 
Mayfield  by  the  highway.  If  you  learn  there  that  the  Lower 
Castle  Indians  have  painted  for  war,  there  is  no  hope  of  winning 
through  to  Cayadutta  Lodge.  And  of  what  use  to  Mr.  Fonda 
would  be  a  dead  girl?" 

"That  is  true,"  she  whispered. 

"Very  well.  And  if  the  Mohawks  are  loose  along  the  river, 
then  you  shall  remain  at  the  Block  House  until  it  becomes  pos- 
sible to  go  on.  There  is  no  other  way.  Do  you  understand?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Do  you  engage  to  do  this  thing?  And  to  place  my  horse  in 
safety  at  the  Mayfield  fort?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Then,"  said  I,  "in  my  turn  I  promise  to  send  aid  to  you  at 
Mayfield,  or  come  myself  and  take  you  to  Cayadutta  Lodge  as 


BEFORE  THE  STORM  67 

soon  as  that  proves  possible.  And  I  promise  more;  I  shall  en- 
deavour to  get  word  through  to  Mr.  Fonda  concerning  your  situ- 
ation." 

She  thanked  me  in  that  odd,  still  voice  of  hers.  Her  eyes  had 
the  starry  look  of  a  child's — or  of  unshed  tears. 

"My  mare  will  carry  two,"  said  I  cheerfully.  "Let  me  mount 
behind  you  and  set  you  on  the  Mayfield  road." 

She  made  no  reply.  I  mounted  behind  her,  took  the  bridle 
from  her  chilled  fingers,  and  spoke  to  Kaya  very  gaily.  And  so 
we  rode  across  my  sunlit  glebe  and  across  the  sugar-bush,  where 
the  moist  trail,  full  of  ferns,  stretched  away  toward  Mayfield 
as  straight  as  the  bee  flies. 

I  do  not  know  whether  it  was  because  the  wench  was  now  ful- 
filling her  duty,  as  she  deemed  it,  and  therefore  had  become  con- 
tented in  a  measure,  but  when  I  dismounted  she  took  the  bridle 
with  a  glance  that  seemed  near  to  a  faint  smile.  But  maybe  it 
was  her  mouth  that  I  thought  fashioned  in  pleasant  lines. 

"Will  you  remember,  soldier?"  she  asked,  looking  down  at  me 
from  the  saddle.  "I  shall  wait  some  news  of  you  at  the  May- 
field  fort." 

"I  shall  not  let  you  remain  there  long  abandoned,"  said  I 
cheerily.  "Be  kind  to  Kaya.  She  has  a  tender  mouth  and  an 
ear  more  sensitive  still  to  a  harsh  word." 

The  girl  laid  a  hand  flat  on  my  mare's  neck  and  looked  at  me, 
the  shy  caress  in  her  gesture  and  in  her  eyes. 

Both  were  meant  for  my  horse;  and  a  quick  kindness  for  this 
Scotch  girl  came  into  my  heart. 

"Take  shelter  at  the  Mayfield  fort,"  said  I,  "and  be  very  cer- 
tain I  shall  not  forget  you.  You  may  gallop  all  the  way  on 
this  soft  wood-road.  Will  you  care  for  Kaya  at  the  fort  when 
she  is  unsaddled?" 

A  smile  suddenly  curved  her  lips. 

"Yes,  John  Drogue,"  she  answered,  looking  me  in  the  eyes. 
And  the  next  moment  she  was  off  at  a  gallop,  her  yellow  hair 
loosened  with  the  first  bound  of  the  horse,  and  flying  all  about 
her  face  and  shoulders  now,  like  sunshine  flashing  across  wind- 
blown goldenrod. 

Then,  in  her  saddle,  the  girl  turned  and  looked  back  at  me,  and 
sat  so,  still  galloping,  until  she  was  out  of  sight. 

And,  as  I  stood  there  alone  in  the  woodland  road,  I  began  to 
understand  what  Nick  Stoner  meant  when  he  called  this  Scotch 
girl  a  disturber  of  men's  minds  and  a  mistress — all  unconscious, 
perhaps — of  a  very  deadly  art. 


CHAPTER  VHI 

SHEEP  AND  GOATS 

NOW,  as  I  came  again  to  the  forest's  edge  and  hastened  along 
the  wide  logging  road,  to  make  up  for  moments  wasted, 
I   caught   sight   of   two   neighbors,   John   Putman   and   Herman 
Salisbury,  walking  ahead  of  me. 

They  wore  the  regimentals  of  our  Mohawk  Regiment  of  dis- 
trict militia,  carried  rifles  and  packs;  and  I  smelled  the  tobacco 
from  their  pipes,  which  seemed  pleasant  though  I  had  never 
learned  to  smoke. 

I  called  to  them ;  they  heard  me  and  waited. 

"Well,  John,"  says  Putman,  as  I  came  up  with  them,  "this  is 
like  to  "be  a  sorry  business  for  farmers,  what  with  plowing  scarce 
begun  and  not  a  seed  yet  planted  in  all  the  Northland,  barring 
winter  wheat." 

"You  think  we  are  to  take  the  field  in  earnest  this  time?"  I 
asked  anxiously. 

"It  looks  that  way  to  me,  Mr.  Drogue.  It's  a  long,  long  road 
to  liberty,  lad;  and  I'm  thinking  we're  off  at  last." 

"He  believes,"  explained  Salisbury,  "that  Little  Abraham's  Mo- 
hawks are  leaving  the  Lower  Castle — which  God  prevent! — but 
I  think  this  business  is  liker  to  be  some  new  deviltry  of  Sir 
John's." 

"Sir  John  gave  his  parole  to  General  Schuyler,"  said  I,  turning 
very  red;  for  I  was  mortified  that  the  honour  of  my  caste  should 
be  so  carelessly  questioned. 

"It  is  not  unthinkable  that  Sir  John  might  lie,"  retorted 
Salisbury  bluntly.  "I  knew  his  father.  Well  and  good.  I  know 
the  son,  also.  .  .  .  But  I  suppose  that  gentlemen  like  yourself, 
Mr.  Drogue,  are  ashamed  to  suspect  the  honour  of  any  of  their 
own  class, — even  an  enemy." 

But  Putman  was  plainer  spoken,  saying  that  in  his  opinion 
any  Tory  was  likely  to  attempt  any  business,  however  dirty,  and 
rub  up  his  tarnished  honour  afterward. 

I  made  him  no  answer;  and  we  marched  swiftly  forward,  each 
engaged  with  a  multitude  of  serious  and  sombre  thoughts. 

68 


SHEEP  AND  GOATS  69 

A  few  moments  later,  chancing  to  glance  behind  me,  stirred 
by  what  instinct  I  know  not,  I  espied  two  neighbors,  young  John, 
son  of  Philip  Helmer,  and  Charles  Cady,  of  Fonda's  Bush,  fol- 
lowing us  so  stealthily  and  so  closely  that  they  might  decently 
have  hailed  us  had  they  been  so  minded. 

Now,  when  they  perceived  that  I  had  noticed  them,  they  dodged 
into  the  bush,  as  though  moved  by  some  common  impulse.  Then 
they  reappeared  in  the  road.  And,  said  I  in  a  low  voice  to 
John  Putman: 

"Yonder  comes  slinking  a  proper  pair  o'  tree-cats  to  sniff  us 
to  our  destination.  If  these  two  be  truly  of  the  other  party,  then 
they  have  no  business  at  John  Stoner's." 

Putman  and  Salisbury  both  looked  back.     Said  the  one,  grimly : 

"They  are  not  coming  to  answer  the  militia  call;  they  have 
rifles  but  neither  regimentals  nor  packs." 

Said  the  other:  "I  wish  we  were  clean  split  at  Fonda's  Bush, 
so  that  an  honest  man  might  know  when  'neighbor*  spells  'traitor7 
in  low  Dutch." 

"Some  riddles  are  best  solved  by  bullets,"  muttered  the  other. 
'Who  argues  with  wolves  or  plays  cat's-cradle  with  catamounts!" 

Glancing  again  over  my  shoulder,  I  saw  that  the  two  behind 
us  were  mending  their  pace  and  must  soon  come  up  with  us. 
And  so  they  did,  Putman  giving  them  a  civil  good-day. 

"Have  you  any  news,  John  Drogue?"  inquired  young  Helmer. 

I  replied  that  I  had  none  to  share  with  him,  meaning  only  that 
I  had  no  news  at  all.  But  Cady  took  it  otherwise  and  his  flat- 
featured  face  reddened  violently,  as  though  the  pox  were  com- 
ing out  on  him. 

And,  "What  the  devil,"  says  he,  "does  this  young,  forest-run- 
ning cockerel  mean?  And  why  should  he  not  share  his  news 
with  John  Helmer  here, — yes,  or  with  me,  too,  by  God,  or  yet 
with  any  true  man  in  County  Tryon?" 

I  said  that  I  had  not  intended  any  such  meaning;  that  he 
mistook  me;  and  that  I  had  aimed  at  no  discourtesy  to  any- 
body. 

"And  safer  for  you,  too!"  retorted  Cady  in  a  loud  and  threat- 
ening tone.  "A  boy's  wisdom  lies  in  his  silence." 

"Johnny  Helmer  asked  a  question  of  me,"  said  I  quietly.  "I 
replied  as  best  I  knew  how." 

"Yes,  and  I'll  ask  a  dozen  questions  if  I  like!"  shouted  Cady. 
"Don't  think  to  bully  me  or  cast  aspersions  on  my  political  com- 
plexion !" 

"If,"  said  I,  "your  political  complexion  be  no  clearer  than  your 


70  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

natural  one,  God  only  can  tell  what  ferments  under  your  skin." 

At  which  he  seemed  so  taken  aback  that  he  answered  nothing; 
but  Helmer  urgently  demanded  to  know  what  political  views  I 
pretended  to  carry. 

"I  wear  mine  on  my  back,"  said  I  pleasantly,  glancing  around 
at  both  Helmer  and  Cady,  who  bore  no  packs  on  their  backs  in 
earnest  of  their  readiness  for  service. 

"You  are  a  damned  impudent  boy!"  retorted  Cady,  "whatever 
may  be  your  politics  or  your  complexion." 

Salisbury  and  Putman  looked  around  at  him  in  troubled  si- 
lence, and  he  said  no  more  for  the  moment.  But  Helmer's  hand- 
some features  darkened  again:  and,  "I'll  not  be  put  upon,"  said 
he,  "whatever  Charlie  Cady  stomachs!  Who  is  Jack  Drogue  to 
flaunt  his  pack  and  his  politics  under  my  nose! 

"And,"  he  added,  looking  angrily  at  me,  "by  every  natural 
right  a  gentleman  should  be  a  King's  man.  So  if  your  politics 
stink  somewhat  of  Boston,  you  are  doubly  suspect  as  an  ingrate 
to  the  one  side  and  a  favour-currying  servant  to  the  other!" 

I  said:  "Had  Sir  William  lived  to  see  this  day  in  Tryon,  I 
think  he,  also,  would  be  wearing  his  regimentals  as  I  do,  and  to 
the  same  purpose." 

Cady  burst  into  a  jeering  laugh :  "Say  as  much  to  Sir  John ! 
Go  to  the  Hall  and  say  to  Sir  John  that  his  father,  had  he  lived, 
would  this  day  be  sending  out  a  district  militia  call!  Tell  him 
that,  young  cockerel,  if  you  desire  a  flogging  at  the  guard-house." 

"You  know  more  of  floggings  than  do  I,"  said  I  quietly.  Which 
stopt  his  mouth.  For,  despite  my  scarcity  of  years,  I  had  given 
him  a  sound  beating  the  year  before,  being  so  harassed  and  pes- 
tered by  him  because  I  had  answered  the  militia-call  on  the  day 
that  General  Schuyler  marched  up  and  disarmed  Sir  John's 
Highlanders  at  the  Hall. 

Putman,  beside  whom  I  was  marching,  turned  to  me  and  said, 
loud  enough  for  all  to  hear:  "You  are  only  a  lad,  John  Drogue, 
but  I  bear  witness  that  you  display  the  patience  and  good  tem- 
per of  a  grown  man.  For  if  Charlie  Cady,  here,  had  picked  on 
me  as  he  has  on  you,  he  sure  had  tasted  my  "rifle-butt  before 
now!" 

"Neighbors  must  bear  with  one  another  in  such  times,"  said 
I,  "and  help  each  other  stamp  down  the  earth  where  the  war- 
axe  lies  buried." 

And,  "Damn  you!"  shouts  Cady  at  a  halt,  "I  shall  not  stir  a 
step  more  to  be  insulted.  I  shall  not  budge  one  inch,  bell  or  no 
bell,  call  or  no  call! " 


SHEEP  AND  GOATS  71 

But  Helmer  dropped  to  the  rear  and  got  him  by  the  elbow  and 
pulled  him  forward;  and  I  heard  them  whispering  together  be- 
hind us  as  we  hastened  on. 

Herman  Salisbury  said:  "A  pair  of  real  tree-cats,  old  Tom 
and  little  Kit!  Fm  in  half  a  mind  to  turn  them  back!"  And 
he  swung  his  brown  rifle  from  the  shoulder  and  let  it  drop  to 
the  hollow  of  his  left  arm — an  insult  and  a  menace  to  any  man. 

"They  but  answer  their  nature,  which  is  to  nose  about  and 
smell  out  what's  a-frying,"  growled  Putman.  "Shall  we  turn 
them  back  and  be  done  with  them?  It  will  mean  civil  war  in 
Fonda's  Bush." 

"Watched  hens  never  lay,"  said  I.  "Let  them  come  with  us. 
While  they  remain  under  our  eyes  the  stale  old  plan  they  brood 
will  addle  like  a  cluck-egg." 

Salisbury  nodded  meaningly: 

"So  that  I  can  see  my  enemy,"  growled  he,  "I  have  no  care 
concerning  him.  But  let  him  out  o'  sight  and  I  fret  like  a 
chained  beagle." 

As  he  finished  speaking  we  came  into  Stoner's  clearing,  which 
was  but  a  thicket  of  dead  weed-stalks  in  a  fallow  field  fenced  by 
split  rails.  Fallow,  indeed,  lay  all  the  Stoner  clearing,  save  for 
a  patch  o'  hen-scratched  garden  at  the  log-cabin's  dooryard; 
for  old  Henry  Stoner  and  his  forest-running  sons  were  none  too 
fond  of  dallying  with  plow  and  hoe  while  rifle  and  fish-pole  rested 
across  the  stag-horn's  crotch  above  the  chimney-piece. 

And  if  ever  they  fed  upon  anything  other  than  fish  and  flesh, 
I  do  not  know;  for  I  never  saw  aught  growing  in  their  garden, 
save  a  dozen  potato-vines  and  a  stray  corn-stalk  full  o'  worms. 

Around  the  log  house  in  the  clearing  already  were  gathered 
a  dozen  or  sixteen  men,  the  greater  number  wearing  the  tow- 
cloth  rifle-frock  of  the  district  militia. 

Other  men  began  to  arrive  as  we  came  up.  Everywhere  great, 
sinewy  hands  were  extended  to  greet  us;  old  Henry  Stoner, 
sprawling  under  an  apple  tree,  saluted  us  with  a  harsh  pleas- 
antry; and  I  saw  the  gold  rings  shining  in  his  ears.  • 

Nick  came  over  to  where  I  stood,  full  of  that  devil's  humour 
which  so  often  urged  him  into — and  led  him  safely  out  of — end- 
less scrapes  betwixt  sun-up  and  moon-set  every  day  in  the  year. 

"It's  Sir  John  we're  to  take,  I  hear,"  he  said  to  me  with  a  grin. 
"They  say  the  lying  louse  of  a  Baronet  has  been  secretly  plotting 
with  Guy  Johnson  and  the  Butlers  in  Canada.  What  wonder, 
then,  that  our  Provincial  Congress  has  its  belly  full  of  these 
same  Johnstown  Tories  and  must  presently  spew  them  up.  And 


72  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

they  say  we  are  to  march  on  the  Hall  at  noon  and  hustle  our 
merry  Baronet  into  Johnstown  jail." 

I  felt  myself  turning  red. 

"Is  it  not  decent  to  give  Sir  John  the  benefit  of  doubt  until 
we  learn  why  that  bell  is  ringing?"  said  I. 

"There  we  go!"  cried  Nick  Stoner.  "Just  because  your  father 
loved  Sir  William  and  you  may  wear  gold  lace  on  your  hat,  you 
feel  an  attachment  to  all  quality.  Hearken  to  me,  John  Drogue: 
Sir  William  is  dead  and  the  others  are  as  honourable  as  a  pack 
of  Canada  wolves."  He  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  rickety  rail 
fence  and  squatted  there.  "The  landed  gentry  of  Tryon  County 
are  a  pack  of  bloody  wolves,"  said  he,  lighting  his  cob  pipe; — 
"Guy  Johnson,  Colonel  Claus,  Walter  Butler,  every  one  of  them 
— every  one! — only  excepting  you,  John  Drogue!  Look,  now, 
where  they're  gathering  in  the  Canadas — Johnsons,  Butlers,  Mc- 
Donalds,— the  whole  Tory  pack — with  Brant  and  his  Mohawks 
stole  away,  and  Little  Abraham  like  to  follow  with  every  war- 
rior from  the  Lower  Castle! 

"And  do  you  suppose  that  Sir  John  has  no  interest  in  all  this 
Tory  treachery?  Do  you  suppose  that  this  poisonous  Baronet 
is  not  in  constant  and  secret  communication  with  Canada?" 

I  looked  elsewhere  sullenly.  Nick  took  me  by  the  arm  and  drew 
me  up  to  a  seat  beside  him  on  the  rail  fence. 

"Let's  view  it  soberly  and  fairly,  Jack,"  says  he,  tapping  his 
palm  with  the  stem  of  his  pipe,  through  which  smoke  oozed. 
"Let's  view  it  from  the  start.  Begin  from  the  Boston  business. 
Now,  then!  George  the  Virginian  got  the  Red-coats  cooped  up 
in  Boston.  That's  the  Yankee  answer  to  too  much  British 
tyranny. 

"We,  in  the  Northland,  looked  to  our  landed  gentry  to  stand 
by  us,  lead  us,  and  face  the  British  King  who  aims  to  turn  us 
into  slaves. 

"We  called  on  our  own  governing  class  to  protect  us  in  our 
ancient  liberties, — to  arm  us,  lead  us  in  our  own  defense!  We 
begged  Guy  Johnson  to  hold  back  his  savages  so  that  the  Iro- 
quois  Confederacy  should  remain  passive  and  take  neither  the  one 
side  nor  t'other. 

"I  grant  you  that  Sir  William  in  his  day  did  loyally  his  ut- 
termost to  quiet  the  Iroquois  and  hold  his  own  Mohawks  tranquil 
when  Cresap  was  betrayed  by  Dunmore,  and  the  first  breeze  from 
this  storm  which  is  now  upon  us  was  already  stirring  the  Six 
Nations  into  restlessness." 


SHEEP  AND  GOATS  73 

"Sir  William,"  said  L,  "was  the  greatest  and  the  best  of  all 
Americans." 

He  said  gravely:  "Sir  William  is  dead.  May  God  rest  his 
soul.  But  this  is  the  situation  that  confronts  us  here  this  day 
on  the  frontier:  We  appealed  to  the  landed  gentry  of  Tryon. 
They  sneered  at  us,  and  spoke  of  us  as  rebels,  and  have  used  us 
very  scornfully — all  excepting  yourself,  John! 

"They  forced  Alec  White  on  us  as  Sheriff,  and  he  broke  up 
our  meetings.  They  strove  by  colour  of  law  and  by  illegal  force 
to  stamp  out  in  Tryon  County  the  last  spark  of  liberty,  of 
manhood  among  us.  God  knows  what  we  have  endured  these 
last  few  years  from  the  landed  gentry  of  Tryon! — what  we  have 
put  up  with  and  stomached  since  the  first  shot  was  fired  at  Lex- 
ington ! 

"And  what  has  become  of  our  natural  protectors  and  leaders! 
Where  is  the  landed  gentry  of  County  Tryon  at  this  very  hour? 
Except  you,  John  Drogue,  where  are  our  gentlemen  of  the  North- 
land?" 

"Gone,"  said  I  soberly. 

"Gone  to  Canada  with  the  murderous  Indians  they  were  sup- 
posed to  hold  neutral!  Guy  Park  stands  empty  and  locked.  It 
is  an  accursed  place!  Guy  Johnson  is  fled  with  every  Tory  des- 
perado and  every  Indian  he  could  muster!  May  God  damn 
him! 

"Old  John  Butler  followed;  and  is  brigading  malcontents  in 
Canada.  Butlersbury  stands  deserted.  May  every  devil  in  hell 
haunt  that  house!  Young  Walter  Butler  is  gone  with  many  of 
our  old  neighbors  of  Tryon;  and  at  Niagara  he  is  forming  a 
merciless  legion  to  return  and  cut  our  throats. 

"And  Colonel  Glaus  is  gone,  and  McDonald,  the  bloody  thief  I 
— with  his  kilted  lunatics  and  all  his  Scotch  banditti " 

"But  Sir  John  remains,"  said  I  quietly. 

"Jack!  Are  you  truly  so  blinded  by  your  caste!  Did  not  you 
yourself  answer  the  militia  call  last  winter  and  march  with  our 
good  General  to  disarm  Sir  John's  popish  Highlanders!  And 
even  then  they  lied — and  Sir  John  lied — for  they  hid  their  broad- 
swords and  pikes!  and  delivered  them  not  when  they  paraded  to 
ground  their  muskets!" 

"Sir  John  has  given  his  parole,"  I  repeated  stubbornly. 

"Sir  John  breaks  it  every  hour  of  the  day!"  cried  Nick.  "And 
he  will  break  it  again  when  we  march  to  take  him.  Do  you  think 
he  won't  learn  of  our  coming?  Do  you  suppose  he  will  stay  at 
the  Hall,  which  he  has  pledged  his  honour  to  do?" 


74  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

"His  lady  is  still  there." 

"With  his  lady  I  have  no  quarrel,"  rejoined  Nick.  'T.  know 
her  to  be  a  very  young,  very  wilful,  very  bitter,  and  very  un- 
happy Tory;  and  she  treats  us  plain  folk  like  dirt  under  her 
satin  shoon.  But  for  that  I  care  nothing.  I  pity  her  because 
she  is  the  wife  of  that  cold,  sleek  beast,  Sir  John.  I  pity  her 
because  she  is  gently  bred  and  frail  and  lonely  and  stuffed  with 
childish  pride  o'  race.  I  pity  her  lot  there  in  the  great  Hall, 
with  her  girl  companions  and  her  servants  and  her  slaves.  And 
I  pity  her  because  everybody  in  County  Tryon,  excepting  only 
herself,  knows  that  Sir  John  cares  nothing  for  her,  and  that 
Claire  Putnam  of  Tribes  Hill  is  Sir  John's  doxy! — and  be 
damned  to  him!  And  you  think  such  a  man  will  not  break  his 
word? 

"He  broke  his  vows  to  wife  and  mistress  alike.  Why  should 
he  keep  his  vows  to  men?"  He  slid  to  the  ground  as  he  spoke, 
and  I  followed,  for  our  three  drummers  had  formed  rank  and 
were  drawing  their  sticks  from  their  cross-belts.  Our  fifers, 
also,  lined  up  behind  them;  and  Nick  and  his  young  brother, 
John,  took  places  with  them. 

"Fall  in!  Fall  in!"  cried  Joe  Scott,  our  captain;  and  every- 
body ran  with  their  packs  and  rifles  to  form  in  double  ranks  of 
sixteen  files  front  while  the  drums  rolled  like  spring  thunder, 
filling  the  woods  with  their  hollow  sound,  and  the  fifes  shrilled 
like  the  swish  of  rain  through  trees. 

Standing  at  ease  between  Dries  Bowman  and  Baltus  Weed,  I 
answered  to  the  roll  call.  Some  among  us  lighted  pipes  and 
leaned  on  our  long  rifles,  chatting  with  neighbors;  others  tight- 
ened belts  and  straps,  buttoned  spatter-dashes,  or  placed  a  sprig 
of  hemlock  above  the  black  and  white  cockades  on  their  felt  hats. 

Baity  Weed,  who  lived  east  of  me,  a  thin  fellow  with  red  rims 
to  his  eyes  and  dry,  sparse  hair  tied  in  a  queue  with  a  knot  of 
buckskin,  asked  me  in  his  stealthy  way  what  I  thought  about 
our  present  business,  and  if  our  Provincial  Congress  had  not, 
perhaps,  unjustly  misjudged  Sir  John. 

I  replied  cautiously.  I  had  never  trusted  Baity  because  he  fre- 
quented taverns  where  few  friends  to  liberty  cared  to  assemble; 
and  he  was  far  too  thick  with  Philip  and  John  Hekner  and  with 
Charlie  Cady  to  suit  my  taste. 

We,  in  the  little  hamlet  of  Fonda's  Bush,  were  scarce  thirty 
families,  all  counted;  and  yet,  even  here  in  this  trackless  wil- 
derness, out  of  which  each  man  had  hewed  for  himself  a  patch 
of  garden  and  a  stump  pasture  along  the  little  river  Kennyetto, 


SHEEP  AND  GOATS  75 

the  bitter  quarrel  had  long  smouldered  betwixt  Tory  and  Patriot 
— King's  man  and  so-called  Rebel. 

And  this  was  the  Mohawk  country.  And  the  Mohawks  stood 
for  the  King  of  England. 

The  road,  I  say,  ended  here;  but  there  was  a  Mohawk  path 
through  twenty  odd  miles  of  untouched  forest  to  those  healing 
springs  called  Saratoga. 

Except  for  this  path  and  a  deep  worn  war-trail  north  to  the 
Sacandaga,  which  was  the  Iroquois  road  to  Canada,  and  except 
for  the  wood  road  to  Sir  William's  Mayfield  and  Fish  House  set- 
tlements, we  of  Fonda's  Bush  were  utterly  cut  off.  Also,  save 
for  the  new  Block  House  at  Mayfield,  we  were  unprotected  in 
a  vast  wilderness  which  embodied  the  very  centre  of  the  Mo- 
hawk country. 

True,  north  of  us  stood  that  little  pleasure  house  built  for  his 
hour  of  leisure  by  Sir  William,  and  called  "The  Summer  House." 

Painted  white  and  green,  it  stood  on  a  hard  ridge  jutting  out 
into  those  dismal,  drowned  lands  which  we  call  the  Great  Vlaie. 
But  it  was  not  fortified. 

Also,  to  the  north,  lay  the  Fish  House,  a  hunting  lodge  of 
Sir  William.  But  these  places  were  no  protection  for  us.  On 
the  other  hand,  they  seemed  a  menace;  for  Tories,  it  had  been 
rumoured,  were  ever  skulking  along  the  Vlaie  and  the  Sacandaga ; 
and  for  aught  we  knew,  these  buildings  were  already  designed  to 
be  made  into  block-houses  and  to  be  garrisoned  by  our  enemies 
as  soon  as  the  first  rifle-shot  cracked  out  in  the  cause  of  liberty. 

Our  company  of  the  Mohawk  Regiment  numbered  thirty-six 
rifles — all  that  now  remained  of  the  old  company,  three-fourths 
of  which  had  already  deserted  to  the  Canadas  with  Butler.  All 
our  officers  had  fled;  Joe  Scott  of  Maxon,  formerly  a  sergeant, 
now  commanded  us;  Benjamin  de  Luysnes  was  our  lieutenant; 
Dries  Bowman  and  Phil  Helmer  our  sergeants — both  already 
suspected. 

Well,  we  got  away  from  Stoner's,  marching  in  double  file,  and 
only  the  little  creatures  of  the  forest  to  hear  our  drums  and  fifes. 

But  the  old  discipline  which  had  obtained  in  all  our  Tryon 
regiments  when  Sir  William  was  our  Major  General  and  the 
landed  gentry  our  officers  seemed  gone;  a  dull  sense  of  bewil- 
derment reigned,  confusing  many  among  us,  as  when  leader- 
less  men  begin  to  realize  how  they  had  depended  upon  a  sturdy 
staff  now  broken  forever. 

We  marched   with   neither  advanced   guard  nor   flankers  for 


76  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

the  first  half  mile;  then  Joe  Scott  halted  us  and  made  Nick 
Stoner  put  away  his  beloved  fife  and  sent  him  out  on  our  right 
flank  where  the  forest  was  heavy. 

Me  he  selected  to  scout  forward  on  the  left — a  dirty  job  where 
alders  and  willows  grew  thick  above  the  bogs. 

But  why  in  God's  name  our  music  played  to  advertise  our  com- 
ing I  can  not  guess,  for  our  men  needed  no  heartening,  having 
courage  and  resolution,  only  the  lack  of  officers  causing  them 
any  anxiety  at  all. 

On  the  left  flank  of  the  little  column  I  kept  very  easily  in 
touch  because  of  this  same  silly  drumming  and  fifing.  And  I 
was  glad  when  we  came  to  high  ground  and  breasted  the  hills 
which  lead  to  that  higher  plateau,  over  which  runs  the  road 
to  Johnstown. 

Plodding  along  in  the  bush,  keeping  a  keen  watch  for  any 
enemy  who  might  come  in  paint  or  in  scarlet  coat,  and  the  far 
rhythm  of  our  drums  thumping  dully  in  my  ears,  I  wondered 
whether  other  companies  of  my  regiment  were  marching  on 
Johnstown,  and  if  other  Tryon  regiments — or  what  was  left  of 
them — were  also  afoot  that  day. 

Was  this,  then,  the  beginning  of  the  war  in  the  Northland? 
And,  when  we  made  a  prisoner  of  Sir  John,  would  all  the  dusky 
forests  glow  with  scarlet  war-paint  and  scarlet  coats? 

Today  birds  sang.  Tomorrow  the  terrific  panther-slogan  of  the 
Iroquois  might  break  out  into  hell's  own  uproar  among  these 
purple  hills. 

Was  this  truly  the  beginning?  Would  these  still,  leafy  trails 
where  the  crested  partridge  strutted  witness  bloody  combats  be- 
tween old  neighbors — all  the  horrors  of  a  fratricidal  war? 

Would  the  painted  men  of  the  woods  hold  their  hands  while 
Tory  and  patriot  fought  it  out?  Or  was  this  utter  and  supreme 
horror  to  be  added  to  this  unnatural  conflict? 

Reflecting  very  seriously  upon  these  matters,  I  trotted  for- 
ward, rifle  a-trail,  and  saw  nothing  living  in  the  woods  save  a 
big  hare  or  two  in  the  alders,  and  the  wild  brown  poultry  of  the 
woods,  that  ran  to  cover  or  rose  into  thunderous  flight  among  the 
thickets. 

About  four  o'clock  came  to  me  Godfrey  Shew,  of  Fish  House, 
a  private  soldier  like  myself,  with  news  of  a  halt  on  the  Johns- 
town road,  and  orders  that  I  eat  a  snack  and  rest  in  my  tracks. 

He  told  me  that  a  company  of  horse  from  Albany  was  out 
scouting  along  the  Mohawk,  and  that  a  column  of  three  thousand 


SHEEP  AND  GOATS  77 

men  under  Colonel  Dayton  were  marching  on  Johnstown  and  had 
passed  Schenectady  about  noon. 

Other  news  he  had  none,  excepting  that  our  company  was  to 
remain  where  we  had  halted,  in  order  to  stop  the  road  to  Fonda's 
Bush  and  Saratoga,  in  case  Sir  John  should  attempt  to  retire 
this  way. 

"Well,  Godfrey,"  said  I,  "if  Sir  John  truly  turns  out  to  be 
without  shame  and  honour,  and  if  he  marches  this  way,  there  is 
like  to  be  a  lively  time  for  us  of  the  Bush,  because  Sir  John  has 
three  hundred  Highlanders  to  thirty  odd  of  ourselves,  and  enough 
Borderers  and  Tory  militia  to  double  the  count." 

"We  all  know  that,"  said  Shew  calmly,  "and  are  not  afraid." 

"Do  you  think  our  people  mean  to  stand?" 

"Yes,"  said  he  simply. 

A  hot  thrill  of  pride  tingled  my  every  vein.  Suddenly  I  com- 
pletely comprehended  that  these  plain  folk  of  Fonda's  Bush  were 
my  own  people;  that  I  was  one  of  them;  th?.t,  as  they  meant  to 
stand  for  the  ancient  liberties  of  all  Englishmen,  now  wickedly 
denied  them,  so  I  also  meant  to  stand  to  the  end. 

And  now,  at  last,  I  comprehended  that  I  was  in  actual  revolt 
against  that  King  and  against  that  nobility  and  gentry  who 
were  deserting  us  when  we  had  so  desperate  need  of  them  in 
this  coming  battle  for  human  freedom  in  a  slave-cursed  world. 

The  cleavage  had  come  at  last;  the  Northland  was  clean  split; 
the  red  livery  of  the  King's  men  had  suddenly  become  a  target 
for  every  honest  rifle  in  Tryon. 

"Godfrey,"  I  said,  "the  last  chance  for  truce  is  passing  as  you 
and  I  stand  here, — the  last  chance  for  any  reconciliation  and 
brotherly  understanding  between  us  and  our  Tory  neighbors." 

"It  is  better  that  way,"  he  said,  giving  me  a  sombre  look. 

I  nodded,  but  all  the  horror  of  civil  war  lay  heavy  in  my  heart 
and  I  thought  of  my  many  friends  in  Tryon  who  would  wear 
the  scarlet  coat  tomorrow,  and  whom  I  now  must  try  to  murder 
with  my  proper  hands,  lest  they  do  the  like  for  me. 

Around  us,  where  we  were  standing,  a  golden  dusk  reigned  in 
the  forest,  into  which,  through  the  roof  of  green  above,  fell  a 
long  sunbeam,  lighting  the  wooded  aisle  as  a  single  candle  on 
the  altar  gleams  athwart  the  gloom  of  some  still  cathedral. 

At  five  o'clock  Godfrey  and  I  had  not  moved  from  that  silent 
place  where  we  stood  on  watch,  leaning  upon  our  rifles. 

Twice  soldiers  came  to  bid  us  keep  close  guard  in  these  open 


78  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

woods  "which,  being  primeval,  were  clear  of  underbrush  and  deep 
with  the  brown  carpet  of  dead  leaves. 

At  last,  toward  six  o'clock,  we  heard  our  drums  rolling  in  the 
distance — signal  to  scout  forward.  I  ran  out  among  the  great 
trees  and  started  on  toward  Johnstown,  keeping  Godfrey  in  view 
on  my  left  hand. 

Very  soon  I  came  out  of  the  forest  on  the  edge  of  cleared 
land.  Against  the  evening  sky  I  saw  the  spires  of  Johnstown, 
stained  crimson  in  the  westering  sun  which  was  going  down  red 
as  a  cherry. 

But  what  held  me  in  spell  was  the  sight  that  met  my  eyes  across 
the  open  meadows,  where  moving  ranks  of  musket-barrels  glanced 
redly  in  the  last  gleam  of  sunset  and  the  naked  swords  and  gor- 
gets of  mounted  officers  glittered. 

Godfrey  Shew  emerged  from  the  edge  of  the  forest  on  my 
left  and  stood  knee  deep  in  last  year's  wild  grass,  one  hand  shad- 
ing his  eyes. 

"What  troops  are  those?"  I  shouted  to  him.  "They  look  like 
the  Continental  Line!" 

"It's  a  reg'lar  rig'ment,"  he  bawled,  "but  whose  I  know  not!" 

The  clanking  of  their  armament  came  clearly  to  my  ears;  the 
timing  tap  of  their  drum  sounded  nearer  still. 

"There  can  be  no  mistake,"  I  called  out  to  Godfrey;  "yonder 
marches  a  regiment  of  the  New  York  line!  We're  at  war!" 

We  moved  out  across  the  pasture.  I  examined  my  flint  and 
priming,  and,  finding  all  tight  and  bright,  waded  forward  waist 
high,  through  last  year's  ghostly  goldenrod,  ready  for  a  quick 
shot  if  necessary. 

The  sun  had  gone  down;  a  lilac-tinted  dusk  veiled  the  fields, 
through  which  the  gay  evening  chirruping  of  the  robins  rang 
incessantly. 

"There  go  our  people!"  shouted  Godfrey. 

I  had  already  caught  sight  of  the  Fonda's  Bush  Company  fil- 
ing between  some  cattle-bars  to  the  left  of  us;  and  knew  they 
must  be  making  straight  for  Johnson  Hall. 

We  shouldered  our  pieces  and  ran  through  the  dead  weeds  to 
intercept  them;  but  there  was  no  need  for  haste,  because  they 
halted  presently  in  some  disorder;  and  I  saw  Joe  Scott  walking 
to  and  fro  along  the  files,  gesticulating. 

And  then,  as  Godfrey  and  I  came  up  with  them,  we  witnessed 
the  first  shameful  exhibition  of  disorder  that  for  so  many  months 
disgraced  the  militia  of  New  York — a  stupidity  partly  cowardly, 
partly  treacherous,  which  at  one  time  so  incensed  His  Excel- 


SHEEP  AND  GOATS  79 

lency  the  Virginian  that  he  said  they  were,  as  a  body,  more  detri- 
mental than  helpful  to  the  cause,  and  proposed  to  disband  them. 

In  the  light  of  later  events,  I  now  realize  that  their  apparent 
poltroonery  arose  not  from  individual  cowardice.  But  these  lev- 
ies had  no  faith  in  their  companies  because  every  battalion  was 
still  full  of  Tories,  nor  had  any  regiment  yet  been  purged. 

Also,  they  had  no  confidence  in  their  officers,  who,  for  the 
greater  part,  were  as  inexperienced  as  they  themselves.  And  I 
think  it  was  because  of  these  things  that  the  New  York  militia 
behaved  so  contemptibly  after  the  battle  of  Long  Island,  and  in 
Tryon  County,  until  the  terrific  trial  by  fire  at  Oriskany  had 
burnt  the  dross  out  of  us  and  left  only  the  nobler  metal. 

Our  Fonda's  Bush  Company  presented  a  most  mortifying  spec- 
tacle as  Godfrey  and  I  came  up.  Joe  Scott  stood  facing  the 
slovenly  single  rank  which  he  had  contrived  to  parade  in  the 
gathering  dusk;  and  he  was  arguing  with  the  men  while  they 
talked  back  loudly. 

There  was  a  hubbub  of  voices,  angry  arguments,  some  laugh- 
ter which  sounded  more  sinister  to  me  than  the  cursing. 

Then  Charlie  Cady  and  John  Howell  of  Sacandaga  left  the 
ranks,  refusing  to  listen  to  Scott,  and  withdrew  a  little  distance, 
where  they  stood  sullenly  in  their  defiance. 

Elias  Cady  called  out  that  he  would  not  march  to  the  Hall  to 
take  Sir  John,  and  he,  also,  left  the  ranks. 

Then,  and  despite  Joe  Scott's  pleading,  Phil  Helmer  and  his 
sullen  son,  John,  walked  away  and  joined  the  Cadys,  and  called 
on  Andrew  Bowman  to  do  the  like. 

Dries  wavered;  but  Baltus  Weed  and  Eugene  Grinnis  left  the 
company. 

Which  so  enraged  me  that  I,  also,  forgot  all  discipline  and 
duty,  and  shook  my  rifles  at  the  mutineers. 

"You  Tory  dogs!"  I  said,  "we're  well  purged  of  you,  and  I 
for  one  thank  God  that  we  now  know  you  for  what  you  are!" 

Godfrey,  a  stark,  fierce  figure  in  his  blackened  buckskins,  went 
out  in  front  of  our  single  rank  and  called  to  the  malcontents: 

"Pull  foot,  you  swine,  or  I'll  mark  you!" 

And,  "Pull  foot!"  shouted  Nick  Stoner,  "and  be  damned  to 
you!  Why  do  you  loiter!  Do  you  wait  for  a  volley  in  your 
guts!" 

At  that,  Baity  Weed  turned  and  ran  toward  the  woods;  but 
the  others  moved  more  slowly  and  sullenly,  not  exactly  menacing 


80  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

us  with,  their  rifles,  but  carrying  them  conveniently  across  the 
hollow  of  their  left  arms. 

In  the  increasing  darkness  I  heard  somebody  sob,  and  saw 
Joe  Scott  standing  with  one  hand  across  his  eyes,  as  though  to 
close  from  his  sight  such  a  scene  of  deep  disgrace. 

Then  I  went  to  him.  I  was  trembling  and  could  scarce  com- 
mand my  voice,  but  gave  him  a  salute  and  stood  at  attention 
until  he  finally  noticed  me. 

"Well,  John,"  said  he,  "this  is  like  to  be  the  death  of  me." 

"Sir;  will  you  order  the  drums  to  beat  a  march?" 

"Do  you  think  the  men  will  march?" 

"Yes,  sir — what  remains  of  them." 

He  came  slowly  back,  motioning  what  was  left  of  the  com- 
pany to  close  up.  I  could  not  hear  what  he  said,  but  the  men 
began  to  count  off,  and  their  voices  were  resolute  enough  to 
hearten  all. 

So  presently  Nick  Stoner,  who  acted  as  fife-major,  blew  lustily 
into  his  fife,  playing  the  marching  tune,  which  is  called  "The 
Little  Red  Foot" ;  and  the  drums  beat  it ;  and  we  marched  in 
column  of  fours  to  take  Sir  John  at  his  ancestral  Hall,  if  it 
chanced  to  be  God's  will. 


CHAPTEE  IX 

STOLE   AWAY 

JOHNSON  HALL  was  a  blaze  of  light  with  candles  in  every 
window,  and  great  lanterns  flaring  from  both  stone  forts 
which  flanked  the  Hall,  and  along  the  new  palisades  which  Sir 
John  had  built  recently  for  his  defense. 

All  gates  and  doors  stood  wide  open,  and  officers  in  Continen- 
tal uniform  and  in  the  uniform  of  the  Palatine  Eegiment,  were 
passing  in  and  out  with  a  great  clanking  of  swords  and  spurs. 

Everywhere  companies  of  regular  infantry  from  Colonel  Day- 
ton's regiment  of  the  New  York  Line  were  making  camp,  and 
I  saw  their  baggage  waggons  drive  up  from  the  town  below  and 
go  into  park  to  the  east  of  the  Hall,  where  cattle  were  lying  in 
the  new  grass. 

An  officer  of  the  Palatine  Regiment  carrying  a  torch  came  up 
to  Joe  Scott,  where  our  little  company  stood  at  ease  along  the 
hedge  fence. 

''What  troops  are  these,  sir?"  he  inquired,  indicating  us  with 
a  nervous  gesture. 

And  when  he  was  informed: 

"Oho!"  said  he,  "there  should  be  material  for  rangers  among 
your  farmer-militia.  Pick  me  two  men  for  Colonel  Dayton  who 
live  by  rifle  and  trap  and  who  know  the  wilderness  from  Albany 
to  the  Lakes." 

So  our  captain  told  off 'Nick  Stoner  and  me,  and  we  stepped 
out  of  the  ranks  into  the  red  torch-glow. 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  said  the  Palatine  officer  to  our  Captain. 
And  to  us:  "Follow  me,  lads." 

He  was  a  brisk,  handsome  and  smartly  uniformed  officer  of 
militia;  and  his  cheerful  demeanor  heartened  me  who  had  lately 
witnessed  such  humiliations  and  disgrace. 

We  followed  him  through  the  stockade  gate  and  into  the  great 
house,  so  perfectly  familiar  to  me  in  happier  days. 

Excepting  for  the  noise  and  confusion  of  officers  coming  and 

going,    there   was   no    disorder   within;    the   beautiful   furniture 

'stood  ranged  in  stately  symmetry;  the  pictures  hung  on  the  walls; 

81 


82  THE  LITTLE  BED  FOOT 

but  I  saw  no  silver  anywhere,  and  all  the  candlesticks  were 
pewter. 

As  we  came  to  the  library,  an  officer  in  the  uniform  of  a  colonel 
of  the  Continental  Line  turned  from  a  group  of  men  crowded 
around  the  centre  table,  on  which  lay  a  map.  Nick  Stoner  and 
I  saluted  his  epaulettes. 

He  came  close  to  us  and  searched  our  faces  coolly  enough,  as 
a  farmer  inspects  an  offered  horse. 

"This  is  young  Nick  Stoner,  of  Fonda's  Bush,  sir,"  said  the 
Palatine  officer. 

"Oh,"  said  the  Colonel  drily,  "I  have  heard  of  the  Stoner  boys. 
And  what  may  be  your  name?"  he  inquired,  fastening  his  pierc- 
ing eyes  on  mine. 

"John  Drogue,  sir." 

"I  have  heard  of  you,  also,"  he  remarked,  more  drily  still. 

For  a  full  minute,  it  seemed  to  me,  he  scrutinized  me  from  head 
to  foot  with  a  sort  of  curiosity  almost  brutal.  Then,  on  his  fea- 
tures a  fine  smile  softened  what  had  seemed  insolence.  With  a 
glance  he  dismissed  the  Palatine,  motioned  us  to  follow  him, 
and  we  three  entered  the  drawing-room  across  the  hall,  which 
was  lighted  but  empty. 

"Mr.  Drogue,"  said  he,  "I  am  Colonel  Dayton;  and  I  have  in 
my  personal  baggage  a  lieutenant's  commission  for  you  from  our 
good  Governor,  procured,  I  believe,  through  the  solicitation  of 
our  mutual  and  most  excellent  friend,  Lord  Stirling." 

I  stood  astonished  to  learn  of  my  preferment,  never  dreaming 
nor  even  wishing  for  military  rank,  but  perfectly  content  to 
carry  the  sack  of  a  private  soldier  in  this  most  just  of  all  wars. 
And  as  for  Billy  Alexander  remembering  to  so  serve  me,  I 
was  still  more  amazed.  For  Lord  Stirling  was  already  a  general 
officer  in  His  Excellency's  new  army,  and  I  never  expected  him 
to  remember  me  amid  the  desperate  anxieties  of  his  new  position. 

"Mr.  Drogue,"  said  Dayton,  "jon,  I  believe,  are  the  only  ex- 
ample among  the  gentry  of  Tryon  County  who  has  openly  em- 
braced the  cause  of  our  thirteen  colonies.  I  do  not  include  the 
Albany  Patroon;  I  speak  only  of  the  nobility  and  gentry  of 
this  county.  .  .  .  And  it  took  courage  to  turn  your  back  upon 
your  own  caste." 

"It  would  hare  taken  more  to  turn  against  my  own  country- 
men, sir." 

He  smiled.  "Come,  sir,  were  you  not  sometime  Brent-Meester 
to  Sir  William  r 

«Y«,  BIT .» 


STOLE  AWAY  83 

'Then  you  should  know  the  forest,  Mr.  Drogue." 

"I  do  know  it." 

"So  General  Schuyler  has  informed  me." 

He  clasped  his  gloved  hands  behind  his  back  and  began  to 
pace  to  and  fro,  his  absent  glances  on  the  window  candles.  Pres- 
ently he  halted: 

"Sir  John  is  fled.     Did  you  know  it?"  he  said  abruptly. 

I  felt  the  hot  shame  burn  my  face  to  the  roots  of  my  hair. 

"Broke  his  parole  of  honour  and  gone  off,"  added  Dayton. 
"Where  do  you  suppose  he  is  making  for  with  his  Tories  and 
Highlanders  ?" 

I  could  scarcely  speak,  so  mortified  was  I  that  a  gentleman  of 
my  own  class  could  have  so  foully  conducted.     But  I  made  out 
to  say  that  Sir  John,  no  doubt,  was  traveling  toward  Canada. 
"Certainly,"   said  the  Colonel;  "but  which  route?" 

"God  knows,  sir.     By  the  Sacandaga  and  the  Lakes,  no  doubt." 

"Could  he  go  by  Saratoga  and  the  top  o'  the  Hudson?" 

"It  is  a  pathless  wilderness." 

"Yes.  And  still  I  think  the  rogue  went  that  way.  I  have 
rangers  out  looking  for  signs  of  him  beyond  Ballston.  Also,  I 
sent  half  a  battalion  toward  the  Sacandaga.  Of  course  Albany 
Royalists  warned  him  of  my  coming;  I  couldn't  prevent  that, 
nor  could  Schuyler,  no,  nor  the  very  devil  himself! 

"And  here  am  I  at  the  Hall,  and  the  fox  stole  away  to  the 
Canadas.  And  what  now  to  do  I  know  not.  .  .  .  Do  you?" 

He  shot  the  question  in  my  face  point  blank;  and  I  stood 
dumb  for  a  minute,  striving  to  collect  and  marshall  any  ideas 
that  might  bear  upon  so  urgent  a  matter. 

"Colonel,"  said  I,  "unless  the  British  hold  Champlain,  Sir 
John  would  scarcely  risk  a  flight  in  that  direction.  No.  He 
would  prefer  to  plunge  into  the  wilderness  and  travel  by  Os- 
wegatchi." 

"Do  you  so  believe,  Mr.  Drogue?" 

I   considered   a   moment  more;   then: 

"Yet,  if  Guy  Johnson's  Indians  have  come  down  toward  the 
Sacandaga  to  protect  him — knowing  that  he  had  meant  to 
flee " 

I  looked  at  Dayton,  then  turned  to  Nick. 

'What  think  you,   Nick?"  I  demanded. 

"By  God,"  he  blurted  out,  "I  am  of  that  mind  too!  Only  a 
madman  would  attempt  the  wilderness  by  Oswegatchi;  and  I 
wager  that  Sir  John  is  already  beyond  the  Sacandaga  and  mak- 
ing for  the  Canadas  on  the  old  Mohawk  war-trail!" 


84  THE  LITTLE  BED  FOOT 

Colonel  Dayton  laid  one  hand  on  my  shoulder: 

"Mr.  Drogue,"  said  he,  "we  have  militia  and  partizans  more 
than  sufficient  in  Try  on.  What  we  need  are  more  regulars,  too; 
but  most  of  all,  and  in  this  crisis,  we  need  rangers.  God  alone 
knows  what  is  coming  upon  Tryon  County  from  the  North, — 
what  evil  is  breeding  there, — what  sinister  forces  are  gathering 
to  overwhelm  these  defenceless  settlements. 

"We  have  scarcely  a  fort  on  this  frontier,  scarcely  a  block 
house.  Every  town  and  village  and  hamlet  north  of  Albany  is 
unprotected;  every  lonely  settler  is  now  at  the  mercy  of  thia 
unknown  and  monstrous  menace  which  is  gathering  like  a  thun- 
dercloud in  the  North. 

"Kegular  regiments  require  time  to  muster;  the  militia  have 
yet  to  prove  their  worth;  partizans,  minute  men,  alarm  com- 
panies— the  value  of  all  these  remains  a  question  still.  Damn 
it,  I  want  rangers!  I  want  them  now!" 

He  began  to  stride  about  the  room  again  in  his  perplexity, 
but  presently  came  back  to  where  we  stood. 

"How  many  rifles  in  your  company  from  Fonda's  Bush?"  he 
demanded. 

I  blushed  to  tell  him,  and  further  confessed  what  had  oc- 
curred that  very  evening  in  the  open  fields  before  Johnstown. 

"Well,"  said  he  coolly,  "it  is  well  to  be  rid  of  vermin.  Now 
you  should  pick  your  men  in  safety,  Mr.  Drogue.  And  if  none 
will  volunteer — such  as  have  families  or  are  not  fit  material 
for  rangers — you  are  authorized  to  go  out  into  the  wilderness 
and  recruit  any  forest-running  fellow  you  can  persuade." 

He  drove  one  gloved  hand  into  the  palm  of  the  other  to  em- 
phasize what  he  said: 

"I  want  real  rangers,  not  militia!  I  want  young  men  who 
laugh  at  any  face  old  Death  can  pull  at  them!  I  want  strong 
men,  keen  men,  tough  men,  rough  men. 

"I  want  men  who  fear  God,  if  that  may  be,  or  who  fear  the 
devil,  if  that  may  be;  but  who  fear  nothing  else  on  earth!" 

He  shot  a  look  at  Nick,  " — like  that  boy  there !"  he  exclaimed — 
"or  I  am  no  judge  of  men!  And  like  yourself,  Mr.  Drogue, 
when  once  they  blood  you!  Come,  sir;  can  you  find  a  few  such 
men  for  me,  and  take  full  charge?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"A  pledge!"  he  exclaimed,  beating  his  gloved  palms.  "And 
when  you  can  collect  a  dozen — the  first  full  dozen — I  want  you 
to  stop  the  Iroquois  trail  at  the  Sacandaga.  That's  where  you 
shall  chiefly  operate — along  the  Sacandaga  and  the  mountains 


STOLE  AWAY  85 

northward!  That's  where  I  expect  trouble.  There  lies  this  ac- 
cursed war-trail;  and  along  it  there  is  like  to  be  a  very  bloody 
business !" 

He  turned  aside  and  stood  smiting  his  hands  softly  together, 
his  preoccupied  eyes  regarding  the  candles. 

"A  very  bloody  business,"  he  repeated  absently  to  himself. 
"Only  rangers  can  aid  us  now.  .  .  .  Help  us  a  little  in  this 
dreadful  crisis.  .  .  .  Until  we  can  recruit — build  forts " 

An  officer  appeared  at  the  open  door  and  saluted. 

<fWell,  sir,"  inquired  Dayton  sharply. 

"Lady  Johnson  is  not  to  be  discovered  in  the  town,  sir." 

"What  ?  Has  Lady  Johnson  run  away  also  ?  Does  the  poor, 
deluded  woman  imagine  that  any  man  in  my  command  would 
offer  insult  to  her?" 

"It  is  reported,  sir,  that  Lady  Johnson  said  some  very  bitter 
things  concerning  us.  It  is  further  reported  that  Lady  John- 
son is  gone  in  a  great  rage  to  the  hunting  lodge  of  the  late 
Sir  William,  as  there  were  already  family  servants  there  at  last 
accounts." 

"Where's   this   place?"   demanded   Dayton,   turning  to   me. 

"The  summer  house  on  the  Vlaie,  sir." 

"Very  well.  Take  what  men  you  can  collect  and  go  there  in- 
stantly, Mr.  Drogue,  and  place  that  foolish  woman  under  ar- 
rest!" 

A  most  painful  colour  burnt  my  face,  but  I  saluted  in  silence. 

"The  little  fool,"  muttered  Dayton,  "to  think  we  meant  to 
insult  her!"  And  to  me:  "Let  her  remain  there,  Mr.  Drogue, 
if  she  so  desires.  Only  guard  well  the  house.  I  shall  march  a 
battalion  of  my  regiment  thither  in  the  morning,  and  later  I 
shall  order  a  company  of  Colonel  Livingston's  regiment  to  Fish 
House.  And  then  we  shall  see  what  we  shall  see,"  he  added 
grimly  to  the  officer  in  the  doorway,  who  smiled  in  return. 

There  ensued  a  silence  through  which,  very  far  away,  we 
heard  the  music  of  another  regiment  marching  into  the  town, 
which  lay  below  us  under  the  calm,  high  stars. 

"That's  Livingston,  now!"  said  Colonel  Dayton,  briskly;  and 
went  out  in  a  hurry,  his  sword  and  spurs  ringing  loudly  in  the" 
hall.  And  a  moment  later  we  heard  him  ride  away  at  a  gallop, 
and  the  loud  clatter  of  horsemen  at  his  heels. 

I  pulled  a  bit  of  jerked  venison  from  my  sack  and  bit  into 
it.  Nick  Stoner  filled  his  mouth  with  cold  johnny-cake. 

And  so,  munching  our  supper,  we  left  the  Hall,  headed  for 
the  Drowned  Lands  to  make  prisoner  an  unhappy  girl  who  had 
gone  off  in  a  rage  to  Summer  House  Point. 


CHAPTEK  X 

A  FIGHT   MARCH 

r  B  iHE   village   of  Johnstown   was  more  brightly   lighted   than 
JL     I  had  ever  before  seen  it.     Indeed,  as  we  came  out  of  the 
Hall  the  glow  of  it  showed  rosy  in  the  sky  and  the  distant  bustle 
in  the  streets  came  quite  plainly  to  our  ears. 

Near  the  hedge  fence  outside  the  Hall  we  came  upon  rem- 
nants of  our  militia  company,  which  had  just  been  dismissed 
from  further  duty,  and  the  men  permitted  to  go  home. 

Some  already  were  walking  away  across  the  fields  toward  the 
Fonda's  Bush  road,  and  these  all  were  farmers;  but  I  saw  De 
Luysnes  and  Johnny  Silver,  the  French  trappers,  talking  to  oW 
man  Stoner  and  his  younger  boy;  and  Nick  and  I  went  over 
to  where  they  were  gathered  near  a  splinter  torch,  which  burned 
with  a  clear,  straight  flame  like  a  candle. 

Joe  Scott,  too,  was  there,  and  I  told  him  about  my  commis- 
sion, whereupon  he  gave  me  the  officer's  salute  and  we  shook 
hands  very  gravely. 

"There  is  scarce  a  handful  remaining  of  our  company,"  said 
he,  "and  you  had  best  choose  from  us  such  as  may  qualify  for 
rangers,  and  who  are  willing  to  go  with  you.  As  for  me,  I 
can  not  go,  John,  because  I  have  here  a  letter  but  just  deliv- 
ered from  Honikol  Herkimer,  calling  me  to  the  Canajoharie  Regi- 
ment." 

It  appeared,  also,  that  old  man  Stoner  had  already  enlisted 
with  Colonel  Livingston's  regiment,  and  his  thirteen-year-old 
boy,  also,  had  been  taken  into  the  same  command  as  a  drummer. 

Dries  Bowman  shook  his  head  when  I  appealed  to  him,  saying 
he  had  a  wife  and  children  to  look  after,  and  would  not  leave 
them  alone  in  the  Bush. 

None  could  find  fault  with  such  an  answer,  though  his  surly 
tone  troubled  me  a  little. 

However,  the  two  French  trappers  offered  to  enlist  in  my 
company  of  Eangers,  and  they  instantly  began  to  strap  up 
their  packs  like  men  prepared  to  start  on  any  journey  at  a  mo- 
ment's notice. 

86 


A  NIGHT  MARCH  87 

Then  Godfrey  Shew,  of  Fish  House,  said  to  me  very  simply 
that  his  conscience  and  his  country  weighed  more  together  than 
did  his  cabin;  and  that  he  was  quite  ready  to  go  with  me  at 
once. 

At  that,  Joe  de  Golyer,  of  Varick's,  fetched  a  laugh  and 
came  up  in  the  torch-light  and  stood  there  towering  six  foot 
eight  in  his  greasy  buckskins,  and  showing  every  hound's  tooth 
in  his  boyish  head. 

"Give  me  my  shilling,  John,"  quoth  he,  "for  I,  also,  am  going 
with  you.  Fve  a  grist-mill  and  a  cabin  and  a  glebe  fair  cleared 
at  Yarick's.  But  my  father  was  all  French;  I  have  seen  red 
for  many  a  day;  and  if  the  King  of  England  wants  my  mill  I 
shall  take  my  pay  for  it  where  I  find  it!" 

Silver  began  to  grin  and  strut  and  comb  out  his  scarlet 
thrums  with  dirty  fingers. 

"Enfin,"  said  he,  with  both  thumbs  in  his  arm-pits,  "we  shall 
be  ver5  happee  familee  in  our  pretee  Bush.  No  more  Toree,  no 
more  Iroquois!  Tryon  Bush  all  belong  to  us." 

"All  that  belongs  to  us  today,"  remarked  Godfrey  grimly,  "is 
what  we  hold  over  our  proper  rifles,  Johnny  Silver!" 

Old  man  Stoner  nodded:  "What  you  look  at  over  your  rifle 
sight  is  all  that'll  ever  feed  and  clothe  you  now,  Silver." 

"Oh,  sure,  by  gar!"  cried  Silver  with  his  lively  grin.  "Deer 
in  blue  coat,  man  in  red  coat,  meme  chose,  savvy?  All  good 
game  to  Johnee  Silver.  Ver5  fine  chasse!  Ah,  sacre  garce!" 
And  he  strutted  about  like  a  cock-patridge,  slapping  his  hips. 

Nick  Stoner  burst  into  a  loud  laugh. 

"Ours  is  like  to  be  a  rough  companionship,  John!"  he  said. 
"For  the  first  shot  fired  will  hum  in  our  ears  like  new  ale;  and 
the  first  screech  from  the  Iroquois  will  turn  us  into  devils!" 

"Come,"  said  I  with  a  shiver  I  could  not  control. 

I  shook  hands  with  Joe  Scott;  Nick  took  leave  of  his  big,  gaunt 
father.  We  both  looked  at  Dries  Bowman,  but  he  had  turned 
away  in  pretense  of  firing  the  torch. 

"Good-bye,  Brent- Meester !"  cried  little  Johnny  Stoner  in  his 
childish  treble,  as  we  started  down  the  stony  way  toward  the 
town  below. 

Johnstown  streets  were  full  of  people  and  every  dwelling,  shop, 
and  tavern  lighted  brightly  as  we  came  into  the  village. 

Mounted  troopers  of  the  Albany  Horse  guarded  every  street 
or  clattered  to  and  fro  in  search,  they  told  us,  of  hidden  arms 
and  supplies.  Soldiers  of  the  regiments  of  Colonels  Dayton  and 


88  THE  LITTLE  BED  FOOT 

Livingston,  too,  were  to  be  seen  everywhere,  some  guarding  the 
jail,  some  encamped  before  the  Court  House,  others  occupying 
suspected  dwellings  and  taverns  notorious  as  Tory  nests. 

Such  inhabitants  as  were  known  friends  to  liberty  roamed  about 
the  streets  or  stood  in  knots  under  the  trees,  whispering  together 
and  watching  the  soldiers.  But  Tories  and  their  families  re- 
mained indoors,  peering  sullenly  from  their  windows  and  some- 
times scowling  upon  these  soldiers  of  a  new  nation,  within  the 
confines  of  which  they  already  were  discovering  that  no  place 
remained  for  any  friend  to  England  or  her  King. 

As  my  little  file  of  riflemen  passed  on  moccasined  feet  through 
the  swarming  streets  of  Johnstown,  soldiers  and  townspeople 
gazed  curiously  after  us,  surmising  immediately  what  might  be 
our  errand.  And  many  greeted  us  or  called  out  pleasantries 
after  us,  such  as,  "Hearkaway!  The  red  fox  will  fool  you  yet!" 
And,  "Dig  him  out,  you  wolf-hounds!  He's  gone  to  earth  at 
Sacandaga  I" 

Many  soldiers  cheered  us,  swinging  their  cocked  hats;  and 
Nick  Stoner  and  Johnny  Silver  swung  their  coon-tailed  caps 
in  return,  shouting  the  wolf-cry  of  the  Coureur-du-Bois — "Yik- 
yik-hoo-hoolo — o !" 

And  now  we  passed  the  slow-moving  baggage  waggons  of 
Colonel  Livingston's  regiment,  toiling  up  from  Caughnawaga, 
the  sleepy  teamsters  nodding,  and  armed  soldiers  drowsing  be- 
hind, who  scarce  opened  one  eye  as  we  trotted  by  them  and  out 
into  the  darkness  of  the  Mayfield  road. 

Now,  in  this  dim  and  starlit  land,  we  moved  more  slowly,  for 
the  road  lay  often  through  woods  where  all  was  dark;  and  among 
us  none  had  fetched  any  lantern. 

It  was  close  to  midnight,  I  think,  when  we  were  challenged; 
and  I  knew  we  were  near  the  new  Block  House,  because  I  heard 
the  creek,  very  noisy  in  the  dark,  and  smelled  English  grass. 

The  sentinel  held  us  very  firmly  and  bawled  to  his  fellow,  who 
arrived  presently  with  a  lantern;  and  we  saw  the  grist-mill  close 
to  us,  with  its  dripping  wheel  and  the  high  flume  belching  water. 

When  they  were  satisfied,  I  asked  for  news  and  they  told  us 
they  had  seen  none  of  Sir  John's  people,  but  that  a  carriage 
carrying  two  ladies  had  nigh  driven  over  them,  refusing  to  halt, 
and  that  they  had  been  ashamed  to  fire  on  women. 

He  informed  us,  further,  that  a  sergeant  and  five  men  of 
Colonel  Dayton's  regiment  had  arrived  at  the  Block  House  and 
would  remain  the  night. 

"Also,"  said  one  of  the  men,  "we  caught  a  girl  riding  a  fine 


A  NIGHT  MARCH  89 

horse  this  morning,  who  gave  an  account  that  she  came  from 
Fonda's  Bush  and  was  servant  to  Douw  Fonda  at  Caughnawaga." 

"Where  is  the  horse?"  I  asked. 

"Safe  stabled  in  the  new  fort." 

"Where  is   the  girl?" 

"Well,"  said  he,  "she  sits  yonder  eating  soupaan  in  the  fort, 
and  all  the  Continentals  making  moon-eyes  at  her." 

"That's  my  horse,"  said  I  shortly.  "Take  your  lantern,  and 
show  her  to  me." 

One  of  the  militia  men  picked  up  the  lantern,  which  had  been 
burning  on  the  grass  between  us,  and  I  followed  along  the  bank 
of  the  creek. 

Presently  I  saw  the  Block  House  against  the  stars,  but  all 
loops  were  shuttered  and  no  light  came  from  them. 

There  was  a  ditch,  a  bridge  of  three  logs,  a  stockade  not  fin- 
ished; and  we  passed  in  between  the  palings  where  a  gateway 
was  to  be  made,  and  where  another  militia-man  sat  guard  on  a 
chopping  block,  cradling  his  firelock  between  his  knees,  fast 
asleep. 

The  stable  was  but  a  shed.  Kaya  turned  her  head  as  I  went 
to  her  and  made  a  soft  little  noise  of  welcome,  and  fell  a-lipping 
me  and  rubbing  her  velvet  nose  against  me. 

"The  Scotch  girl  cared  for  your  mare  and  fed  her,  paying 
four  pence,"  said  the  militia-man.  "But  we  were  ashamed  to 
take  pay." 

I  examined  Kaya.  She  had  been  well  cared  for.  Then  I 
lifted  her  harness  from  the  wooden  peg  where  it  hung  and  sad- 
dled her  by  the  lantern  light. 

And  when  all  was  snug  I  passed  the  bridle  over  my  arm  and 
led  her  to  the  door  of  the  Block  House. 

Before  I  entered,  I  could  hear  from  within  the  strains  of 
a  fiddle;  and  then  opened  the  door  and  went  in. 

The  girl,  Penelope,  sat  on  a  block  of  wood  eating  soupaan  with 
a  pewter  spoon  out  of  a  glazed  bowl  upon  her  knees. 

Ten  soldiers  stood  in  a  ring  around  her,  every  man  jack  o' 
them  a-courting  as  hard  as  he  could  court  and  ogle — which  all 
was  as  plain  to  me  as  the  nose  on  your  face! — and  seemed  to  me 
a  most  silly  sight. 

For  the  sergeant,  a  dapper  man  smelling  rank  of  pomatum 
and  his  queue  smartly  floured,  was  a-wooing  her  with  his  fiddle 
and  rolling  big  eyes  at  her  to  kill  at  twenty  paces;  and  a  tall, 
tthin  corporal  was  tying  a  nosegay  made  of  swamp  marigolds 
for  her,  which,  now  and  again,  he  pretended  to  match  against 


90  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

her  yellow  hair  and  smirked  when  she  lifted  her  eyes  to  see 
what  he  was  about. 

Every  man  jack  o'  them  was  up  to  something,  one  with  a  jug 
o'  milk  to  douse  her  soupaan  withal,  another  busy  with  his 
Barlow  carving  a  basket  out  of  a  walnut  to  please  her; — this 
fellow  making  pictures  on  birch-bark;  that  one  scraping  her 
name  on  his  powder-horn  and  pricking  a  heart  about  it. 

As  for  the  girl,  Penelope,  she  sat  upon  her  chopping  block 
with  downcast  eyes  and  very  leisurely  eating  of  her  porridge; 
but  I  saw  her  lips  traced  with  that  faint  smile  which  I  re- 
membered. 

What  with  the  noise  of  the  fiddle  and  the  chatter  all  about 
her,  neither  she  nor  the  soldiers  heard  the  door  open,  nor,  in- 
deed, noticed  us  at  all  until  my  militia-men  sings  out:  "Lieuten- 
ant Drogue,  boys,  on  duty  from  Johnstown!" 

At  that  the  Continentals  jumped  up  very  lively,  I  warrant 
you,  being  troops  of  some  little  discipline  already;  and  I  spoke 
civilly  to  their  sergeant  and  went  over  to  the  girl,  Penelope, 
who  had  risen,  bowl  in  one  hand,  spoon  in  t'other,  and  looking 
upon  me  very  hard  out  of  her  brown  eyes. 

"Come,"  said  I  pleasantly,  "you  have  kept  your  word  to  me 
and  I  mean  to  keep  mine  to  you.  My  mare  is  saddled  for  you." 

"You  take  me  to  Caughnawaga,  sir!"  she  exclaimed,  setting 
bowl  and  spoon  aside. 

"Tomorrow.  Tonight  you  shall  ride  with  us  to  the  Summer 
House,  where  I  promise  you  a  bed." 

I  held  out  my  hand.  She  placed  hers  within  it,  looked  shyly 
at  the  Continentals  where  they  stood,  dropped  a  curtsey  to  all, 
and  went  out  beside  me. 

"Is  there  news?"  she  asked  as  I  lifted  her  to  the  saddle. 

"Sir  John  is  gone." 

"I  meant  news  from  Caughnawaga." 

"Why,  yes.  All  is  safe  there.  A  regiment  of  Continentals 
passed  through  Caughnawaga  today  with  their  waggons.  So,  for 
the  time  at  least,  all  is  quite  secure  along  the  Mohawk." 

Tl!Thank  you,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 

I  led  the  horse  back  to  the  road,  where  my  little  squad  of 
men  was  waiting  me,  and  who  fell  in  behind  me,  astonished,  I 
think,  as  I  started  east  by  north  once  more  along  the  Mayfield 
road. 

Presently  Nick  stole  to  my  side  through  the  darkness,  not  a 
whit  embarrassed  by  my  new  military  rank. 


A  NIGHT  MARCH  91 

"Why,  John,"  says  he  in  a  guarded  voice,  "is  this  not  the 
Scotch  girl  of  Caughnawaga  who  rides  your  mare,  Kaya?" 

I  told  him  how  she  had  come  to  the  Bowmans  the  night  be- 
fore, and  how,  having  stolen  my  mare,  I  bargained  with  her 
and  must  send  her  or  guide  her  myself  on  the  morrow  to  Caya- 
dutta. 

I  -was  conscious  of  his  stifled  mirth  but  paid  no  heed,  for  we 
were  entering  the  pineries  now,  where  all  was  inky  dark,  and 
the  trail  to  be  followed  only  by  touch  of  foot. 

"Drop  your  bridle;  Kaya  will  follow  me,"  I  called  back  softly 
to  the  girl,  Penelope.  "Hold  to  the  saddle  and  be  not  afraid." 

"I  am  not  afraid,"  said  she. 

We  were  now  moving  directly  toward  Fonda's  Bush,  and  not 
three  miles  from  my  own  house,  but  presently  we  crossed  the 
brook,  ascended  a  hill,  and  so  came  out  of  the  pinery  and  took 
a  wide  and  starlit  waggon-path  which  bore  to  the  left,  running 
between  fields  where  great  stumps  stood. 

This  was  Sir  William's  carriage  road  to  the  Point;  and  twice 
we  crossed  the  Kennyetto  by  shallow  fords. 

Close  beside  this  carriage  path  on  the  north,  and  following  all 
the  way,  ran  the  Iroquois  war  trail,  hard  and  clean  as  a  sheep 
walk,  worn  more  than  a  foot  deep  by  the  innumerable  mocca- 
sined  feet  that  had  trodden  it  through  the  ages. 

Very  soon  we  passed  Nine-Mile  Tree,  a  landmark  of  Sir  Wil- 
liam's, which  was  a  giant  pine  left  by  the  road  to  tower  in  mel- 
ancholy majesty  all  alone. 

When  I  rode  the  hills  as  Brent-Meester,  this  pine  was  like  a 
guide  post  to  me,  visible  for  miles. 

Now,  as  I  passed,  I  looked  at  it  in  the  silvery  dusk  of  the 
stars  and  saw  some  strange  object  shining  on  the  bark. 

"What  is  that  shining  on  Nine-Mile  Tree?"  said  I  to  Nick. 
He  ran  across  the  road;  we  marched  on,  I  leading,  then  the 
Scotch  girl  on  my  mare,  then  my  handful  of  men  trudging  dog- 
gedly with  pieces  a-trail. 

A  moment  later  Nick  same  swiftly  to  my  side  and  nudged 
me;  and  looking  around  I  saw  an  Indian  hatchet  in  his  hand, 
the  blade  freshly  brightened. 

"It  was  sticking  in  the  tree,"  he  breathed.  "My  God,  John, 
the  Iroquois  are  out!" 

Chill  after  chill  crawled  up  my  back  as  I  began  to  under- 
stand the  significance  of  that  freshly  polished  little  war-axe  with 
ijs  limber  helve  of  hickory  worn  slippery  by  long  usage,  and 
its  loop  of  braided  deer-hide  blackened  by  age. 


92  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

"Was  there  aught  else?"  I  whispered. 

"Nothing  except  this  Mohawk  hatchet  struck  deep  into  the 
bark  of  Nine-Mile  Tree,  and  sticking  there." 

"Do  you  know  what  it  means,  Nick?" 

"Aye.  Also,  it  is  an  old  war-axe  newly  polished.  And  struck 
deep  into  the  tallest  pine  in  Tryon.  Any  fool  must  know  what 
all  this  means.  Shall  you  speak  of  this  to  the  others,  John?" 

"Yes,"  said  I,  "they  must  know  at  once." 

I  waited  for  Kaya  to  come  up,  laid  my  hand  on  the  bridle 
and  called  back  in  a  low  voice  to  my  men:  "Boys,  an  Indian 
war-axe  was  left  sticking  in  Nine-Mile  Tree.  Nick  drew  it  out. 
The  hatchet  is  an  old  one,  but  it  is  newly  polished!" 

"Sacre  garce!"  whispered  Silver  fiercely.  "Now,  grace  a  dieu, 
shall  I  reckon  with  those  dirtee  trap-robb'ers  who  take  my  pelts 
like  the  carcajou !  Ha !  So  is  it  war  ?  A  la  bonheur !  Let  them 
come  for  my  hair  then!  And  if  they  get  Johnny  Silver's  hair 
they  may  paint  the  Little  Red  Foot  on  the  hoop,  nom  de  dieu!" 

"Get  along  forward,  boys,"  said  I.  "Some  of  you  keep  an  eye 
on  the  mountains  lest  they  begin  calling  to  Sir  John  with 
fire " 

"A  flame  on  Maxon!"  whispered  Nick  at  my  elbow. 

I  jerked  my  head  around  as  though  I  had  been  shot.  There  it 
rose,  a  thin  red  streak  above  the  blunt  headland  that  towered 
over  the  Drowned  Lands.  Steadily  as  a  candle's  flame  in  a  still 
room,  it  burned  for  a  few  moments,  then  was  shattered  into 
crimson  jets. 

Far  to  the  North,  on  some  invisible  mountain,  a  faint  crim- 
son flare  replied. 

Nobody  spoke,  but  I  knew  that  every  eye  was  fixed  on  those 
Indian  signal-fires  as  we  moved  rapidly  forward  into  the  swale 
country  where  swampy  willows  spread  away  on  either  hand  and 
little  pools  of  water  caught  the  starlight. 

The  road,  too,  had  become  wet,  and  water  stood  in  the  ruts; 
and  every  few  minutes  we  crossed  corduroy. 

"Yonder  stands  the  Summer  House,"  whispered  Nick. 

A  ridge  of  hard  land  ran  out  into  the  reed-set  water.  A 
hinged  gate  barred  the  neck.  Nick  swung  it  wide;  I  led  my 
mare  and  her  rider  through  it;  posted  Godfrey  and  Silver  there; 
posted  Luysnes  and  De  Golyer  a  hundred  paces  inland  near  the 
apple  trees;  left  Nick  by  the  well,  and,  walking  beside  my  mare, 
continued  on  to  the  little  green  and  white  hunting  lodge  where, 
through  the  crescents  of  closed  shutters,  rays  of  light  streamed 
out  into  the  night. 


A  NIGHT  MARCH  93 

Here  I  lifted  the  Scotch  girl  from  her  saddle,  walked  with  her 
to  the  kitchen  porch,  and  knocked  softly  on  the  kitchen  door. 

After  a  while  I  could  hear  a  stirring  within,  voices,  steps. 

"Nicholas !     Pontioch !     Flora !"   I   called  in   guarded  tones. 

Presently  I  heard  Flora's  voice  inquiring  timidly  who  I 
might  be. 

"Mr.  Drogue  is  arrived  to  await  her  ladyship's  commands," 
said  I. 

At  that  the  bolts  slid  and  the  door  creaked  open.  Black  Flora 
stood  there  in  her  yellow  night  shift,  rolling  enormous  eyes 
at  me,  and  behind  her  I  saw  Colas  with  a  lighted  dip,  gaping 
to  see  me  enter  with  a  strange  woman. 

"Is  your  mistress  here?"  I  demanded. 

"Yassuh,"  answered  Flora,  "mah  lady  done  gone  to  baid,  suh." 

"Who  else  is  here?    Mistress  Swift?" 

"Yassuh." 

"Is  there  a  spare  bed?" 

Flora  rolled  suspicious  eyes  at  the  Scotch  girl,  but  thought 
there  was  a  bed  in  Sir  William's  old  gun  room. 

I  waited  until  the^ black  wench  had  made  sure,  then  bade 
Colas  look  to  my  mare,  said  a  curt  good-night  to  Penelope  Grant, 
and  went  out  to  unroll  my  blanket  on  the  front  porch. 

When  I  whistled  softly  Nick  came  across  the  garden  from 
the  well. 

"Lady  Johnson  is  here,"  said  I.  <rYonder  lies  my  blanket. 
I  stand  first  watch.  Go  you  and  sleep  now  while  you  can " 

"Sleep  first,  John.    I  am  not  weary " 

"Remember  I  am  your  officer,  Nick!" 

"Oh,  hell!"  quoth  he.  "That  does  not  awe  me,  John.  What 
awes  me  in  you  is  your  kindness — and  to  remember  that  your 
ancestors  wore  their  gold  rings  upon  their  fingers." 

I  passed  my  arm  about  his  shoulders,  then  released  him  and 
went  slowly  over  to  the  well.  And  here  I  primed  my  rifle  with 
bright,  dry  powder,  shouldered  it,  and  began  to  walk  my  post 
at  a  brisk  pace  to  cheat  the  sleep  which  meddled  with  my  heavy 
eyes  and  set  me  yawning  till  my  young  jaws  crackled. 


CHAPTEK  XI 

SUMMER   HOUSE   POINT 

sun  in  my  eyes  and  the  noise  of  drums  awoke  me,  where, 
M.  relieved  on  post  by  Nick,  I  had  been  sleeping  on  the  veranda. 

Beyond  the  orchard  on  the  Johnstown  road,  mounted  officers  in 
blue  and  buff  were  riding  amid  undulating  ranks  of  moving 
muskets;  and  I  knew  that  the  Continental  Line  had  arrived  at 
Summer  House  Point,  and  was  glad  of  it. 

As  I  shook  loose  my  blanket  and  stood  up,  black  Flora  and 
Colas  came  up  from  their  kitchen  below  ground,  and  seemed  as- 
tonished to  see  me  still  there. 

'Is  your  mistress  awake?"  I  demanded.  But  they  did  not 
know;  so  I  bade  Flora  go  inside  and  awaken  Lady  Johnson. 
Then  I  went  down  to  the  well  in  the  orchard,  where  Nick  stood 
sentry,  looking  through  the  blossoming  boughs  at  what  was  pass- 
ing on  the  mainland  road  beyond  the  Point. 

It  was  a  soft,  sunny  morning,  and  a  pleasant  scent  from  the 
apple  bloom,  which  I  remember  was  full  o'  bees. 

Through  the  orchard,  on  the  small  peninsula,  now  came  strid- 
ing toward  us  a  dozen  or  more  officers  of  the  regiments  of 
Colonels  Dayton  and  Livingston,  all  laughing  together  and  seem- 
ing very  merry;  and  some,  as  they  passed  under  the  flowering 
branches,  plucked  twigs  of  white  and  pink  flowers  and  made 
themselves  nosegays. 

Their  major,  who  seemed  to  know  me  as  an  officer,  though  I 
did  not  know  him,  called  out  in  high  good  humour: 

<(Well,  my  lord  Northesk,  did  you  and  your  rangers  arrive  in 
time  to  close  the  cage  on  our  pretty  bird?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  I,  reddening,  and  not  pleased. 

"Lady  Johnson  is  here  then?" 

"Yes,  Major." 

At  that  instant  the  front  door  opened  and  Lady  Johnson  came 
out  quickly  and  stood  on  the  veranda,  the  sun  striking  across 
her  pallid  face,  which  paleness  was  more  due  to  her  condition 
than  to  any  fear  of  our  soldiery. 

She  was  but  partly  robed,  and  that  nastily;  her  hair  all  un- 

94  ^ 


SUMMER  HOUSE  POINT  95 

powdered  and  undressed,  and  only  a  levete  of  China  silk  flung 
about  her  girlish  figure,  and  making  still  more  evident  her  deli- 
cate physical  condition. 

But  in  her  eyes  I  saw  storms  a-brewing,  and  her  lips  and 
features  went  white  as  she  stood  there,  clenching  and  unclench- 
ing one  hand,  and  still  a  little  blinded  by  the  sun  in  her  face. 

We  all  had  uncovered  before  her,  bowing  very  low;  and,  if 
she  noticed  me  at  first,  I  am  not  certain,  but  she  gave  our  Major 
such  a  deadly  stare  that  it  checked  his  speech  and  put  him 
clean  out  o'  countenance,  leaving  him  a-twiddling  his  sword- 
knot  and  dumb  as  a  fish. 

"What  does  this  mean?"  said  she,  her  lip  trembling  with  in- 
creasing passion.  "Have  you  come  here  to  arrest  me?" 

And,  as  nobody  replied,  she  stamped  her  bare  foot  in  its  silken 
chamber-shoe,  like  any  angry  child  in  petty  fury  when  disobliged. 

"Is  it  not  enough,"  she  continued,  "that  you  drive  my  un- 
happy husband  out  of  his  own  house,  but  you  must  presently 
follow  me  here  to  mock  and  insult  me?  What  has  our  family 
done  to  merit  this  outrage?" 

Our  Major,  astonished  and  out  o'  countenance,  attempted  a 
civil  word  to  calm  her,  but  she  swept  us  all  with  scornful  eyes 
and  stamped  her  foot  again  in  such  anger  that  her  shoe  fell  off 
and  landed  on  the  grass. 

"Our  only  crime  is  loyalty  to  a  merciful  and  Christian  King!" 
she  cried,  paying  no  heed  to  the  shoe.  "Our  punishment  is  that 
we  are  like  to  be  hunted  as  they  hunt  wild  beasts!  By  a  pack 
of  rebels,  too !  Shame,  gentlemen !  Is  this  worthy  even  of  em- 
battled shopkeepers?" 

"Madame,  I  beg  you " 

But  she  had  no  patience  to  listen. 

"You  have  forced  me  out  of  my  home  in  Johnstown,"  she 
said  bitterly,  "and  I  thought  to  find  refuge  under  this  poor  roof. 
But  now  you  come  hunting  me  here!  Very  well,  gentlemen,  I 
leave  you  in  possession  and  go  to  Fish  House.  And  if  you  hunt 
me  out  o'  Fish  House,  I  shall  go  on,  God  knows  where! — for 
I  do  not  choose  to  endure  the  insult  with  which  your  mere  pres- 
ence here  affronts  me!" 

I  had  picked  up  her  silk  shoe  and  now  went  to  her  with  it, 
where  she  stood  on  the  veranda,  biting  at  her  lip,  and  her  eyes 
all  a-glitter  with  angry  tears. 

"For  God's  sake,  madam,"  said  I,  "do  not  use  us  so  harshly. 

We  mean  no  insult  and  no  harm " 

*  "John  Drogue,"  she  said  with  a  great  sob,  "I  have  loved  you 


96  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

as  a  brother,  but  I  had  rather  see  you  dead  there  on  this  violated 
threshold  than  know  that  the  Laird  of  Northesk  is  become  a 
rebel  to  his  King!" 

I  knelt  down  and  drew  the  shoe  over  her  bare  foot.  Then 
I  sfood  up  and  took  her  hand,  laying  it  very  gently  upon  my 
arm.  She  suffered  me  to  lead  her  into  the  house — to  the  door 
of  her  bedroom,  where  Claudia,  already  dressed,  took  her  from  me. 

"Oh,  John,  John,"  she  sobbed,  "what  is  this  pack  o'  riff-raff 
doing  here  with  their  cobbler  majors  and  carpenter  colonels — 
all  these  petty  shop-keepers  in  uniform  who  come  from  filthy 
Boston  to  ride  over  us?" 

Claudia's  eyes  were  very  bright,  but  without  any  trace  of  fear 
or  anger. 

"What  troops  are  these,  Jack?"  she  inquired  coolly.  "And  do 
they  really  come  here  to  make  prisoners  of  two  poor  women?" 

I  told  her  that  these  soldiers  formed  a  mixed  battalion  from 
the  commands  of  Colonels  Dayton  and  Livingston,  and  that 
they  would  encamp  for  the  present  within  sight  of  the  Summer 
House. 

"Do  you  mean  that  Polly  and  I  are  prisoners?"  she  repeated 
incredulously. 

"I'm  afraid  I  do  mean  that,  Claudia,"  said  I. 

At  the  word  "prisoner"  Lady  Johnson  flamed: 

"Are  you  not  ashamed,  Jack  Drogue,  to  tell  me  to  my  face 
such  barbarous  news!"  she  cried.  "You,  a  gentleman,  to  con- 
sort with  vulgar  bandits  who  make  prisoners  of  women!  What 
do  you  think  of  your  Boston  friends  now?  What  do  you  think 
of  your  blacksmith  generals  and  'pothecary  colonels " 

"Polly!  Be  silent!"  entreated  Claudia,  shaking  her  arm.  "Is 
this  a  decent  manner  to  conduct  when  the  fortune  of  war  fails 
to  suit  your  tastes?" 

And  to  me:  "No  one  is  like  to  harm  us,  I  take  it.  We  are 
not  in  personal  danger,  are  we?" 

"Good  Lord!"  said  I,  mortified  that  she  should  even  ask  me. 

"Well,  then!"  she  said  in  a  lively  voice  to  Lady  Johnson,  who 
had  turned  her  back  on  me  in  sulle»  rage,  "it  will  be  but  a  few 
days  at  worst,  Polly.  These  rebel  officers  are  not  ogres.  No! 
So  in  Heaven's  name  let  us  make  the  hest  of  this  business — until 
Mr.  Washington  graciously  permits  us  to  go  on  to  Albany  or  to 
New  York." 

"I  shall  not  go  thither!"  stormed  Lady  Johnson,  pacing  her 
chamber  like  a  very  child  in  the  tantrums;  "I  shall  not  deign 
to  inhabit  any  city  which  is  held  by  dirty  rebels " 


97 

"But  we  shall  drive  them  out  first!"  insisted  Claudia,  with 
an  impudent  look  at  me.  "Surely,  dear,  Albany  will  soon  be  a 
proper  city  to  reside  in;  General  Howe  has  said  it; — and  so  we 
had  "best  address  a  polite  letter  to  Mr.  Washington,  requesting 
a  safe  conduct  thither  and  a  flag " 

"I  shall  not  write  a  syllable  to  the  arch-rebel  Washington!" 
stormed  Lady  Johnson.  "And  I  tell  you  plainly,  Jack,  I  expect 
to  have  my  throat  cut  before  this  shameful  business  is  ended!" 

"You  had  best  conduct  sensibly,  both  of  you,"  said  I  bluntly; 
"for  I'm  tired  of  your  airs  and  vapours;  and  Colonel  Dayton 
will  stand  no  nonsense  from  either  of  you!" 

"John!"  faltered  Lady  Johnson,  "do — do  you,  too,  mean  to 
use  us  brutally?" 

"I  merely  beg  you  to  consider  what  you  say  before  you  say  it, 
Polly  Johnson!  You  speak  to  a  rebel  of  'dirty'  rebels  and  'arch' 
rebels;  you  conduct  as  though  we,  who  hold  another  opinion 
than  that  entertained  by  you,  were  the  scum  and  offscouring 
of  the  earth." 

"I  meant  it  not  as  far  as  it  concerns  you,  John  Drogue,"  she 
said  with  another  sob. 

"Then  be  pleased  to  trim  your  speech  to  my  brother  officers," 
said  I,  still  hotly  vexed  by  her  silly  behaviour.  "We  went  to 
/ohnstown  to  take  your  husband  because  we  believe  he  has  com- 
municated with  Canada.  And  it  was  proper  of  us  to  do  so. 

"We  came  here  to  detain  you  until  some  decent  arrangement 
can  be  made  whereby  you  shall  have  every  conceivable  comfort 
and  every  reasonable  liberty,  save  only  to  do  us  a  harm  by 
communicating  with  your  friends  who  are  our  enemies. 

"Therefore,  it  would  be  wise  for  you  to  treat  us  politely  and 
not  rail  at  us  like  a  spoiled  child.  Our  duty  here  is  not  of  our 
own  choosing,  nor  is  it  to  our  taste.  No  man  desires  to  play 
jailer  to  any  woman.  But  for  the  present  it  must  be  so.  There- 
fore, as  I  say,  it  might  prove  more  agreeable  for  all  if  you  and 
Claudia  observe  toward  us  the  ordinary  decencies  of  polite  usage !" 

There  was  a  silence.  Lady  Johnson's  back  remained  turned 
toward  me;  she  was  weeping. 

Claudia  took  her  hand  and  turned  and  looked  at  me  with  all 
the  lively  mischief,  all  the  adorable  impudence  I  knew  so  well: 

"La,  Mr.  Drogue,"  says  she  mockingly,  "some  gentlemen  are 
born  so  and  others  are  made  when  made  officers  in  armies.  And 
captivity  is  irksome.  So,  if  your  friends  desire  to  pay  their  re- 
spects to  us  poor  captives,  I  for  one  shall  not  be  too  greatly  dis- 
pleased  " 


98  THE  LITTLE  BED  FOOT 

"Claudia!"  cried  Lady  Johnson,  "do  you  desire  a  dish  of  tea 
with  tinkers  and  tin-peddlars  ?" 

"I  hear  you,  Polly,"  said  she,  "but  prefer  to  hear  you  further 
after  breakfast — which,  thank  God!  I  can  now  smell  a-cooking." 
And,  to  me:  "Jack,  will  you  breakfast  with  us " 

She  stopped  abruptly:  the  door  of  Sir  William's  gun  room 
opened,  and  the  Scottish  girl,  Penelope  Grant,  walked  out. 

"Lord!"  said  Claudia,  looking  at  her  in  astonishment.  "And 
who  may  you  be,  and  how  have  you  come  here?" 

"I  am  Penelope  Grant,"  she  answered,  "servant  to  Douw  Fonda 
of  Caughnawaga;  and  I  came  last  night  with  Mr.  Drogue." 

The  perfect  candour  of  her  words  should  have  clothed  them 
with  innocence.  And,  I  think,  did  so.  Yet,  Claudia  shot  a  wicked 
look  at  me,  which  did  not  please  me. 

But  I  ignored  her  and  explained  the  situation  briefly  to  Lady 
Johnson,  who  had  turned  to  stare  at  Penelope,  who  stood  there 
quite  self-possessed  in  her  shabby  dress  of  gingham. 

There  was  a  silence;  then  Claudia  asked  the  girl  if  she  would 
take  service  with  her;  and  Penelope  shook  her  head. 

"I  pay  handsomely,  and  I  need  a  clever  wench  to  care  for 
me,"  insisted  Claudia;  "and  by  your  fine,  white  hands  I  see  you 
are  well  accustomed  to  ladies'  needs.  Are  you  not,  Penelope?" 

"I  am  servant  to  Douw  Fonda,"  repeated  the  girl.  "It  would 
not  be  kind  in  me  to  leave  him  who  offers  to  adopt  me.  Nor  is 
it  decent  to  abandon  him  in  times  like  these." 

Lady  Johnson  came  forward  slowly,  her  tear-marred  eyes 
clearing. 

"My  brother,  Stephen,  has  spoken  of  you.  I  understood  him 
to  say  that  you  are  the  daughter  of  a  Scottish  minister.  Is  this 
true?" 

"Yee,  my  lady." 

"Then  you  are  no  servant  wenck." 

"I  serve." 

'Why?" 

"My  parents  are  dead.    I  must  earn  my  bread." 

"Oh.    You  have  no  means  to  maintain  you?" 

"None,  madam." 

"How  long  have  you  been  left  an  orphan?" 

"These  three  years,  my  lady." 

''You  came  from  Scotland?" 

"From  France,  my  lady." 

"How  so?" 

"My  father  preached  to  the  exiled  Scots  who  live  in  Paris. 


SUMMER  HOUSE  POINT  99 

When  he  was  dying,  I  promised  to  take  ship  and  come  to  Amer- 
ica, because,  he  said,  only  in  America  is  a  young  girl  safe  from 
men." 

"Safe?"  quoth  Claudia,  smiling. 

"Yes,  madam." 

"Safe  from  what,  child?" 

"From  the  unlawful  machinations  of  designing  men,  madam. 
My  father  told  me  that  men  hunt  women  as  a  sport." 

"Oh,  la !"  cried  Claudia,  laughing ;  ''you  have  it  hind  end  fore- 
most! Man  is  the  hunted  one!  Man  is  the  victim!  Is  it  not 
so,  Jack?" — looking  so  impudently  at  me  that  I  was  too  vexed  to 
smile  in  return,  but  got  very  red  and  gazed  elsewhere. 

"And  what  did  you  then,  Penelope  Grant?"  inquired  Lady 
Johnson,  with  a  soft  sort  of  interest  which  was  natural  and 
unfeigned,  she  having  a  gentle  heart  and  tender  under  all  her 
pride  and  childishness. 

"I  took  ship,  my  lady,  and  came  to  New  York." 

"And  then?" 

"I  went  to  Parson  Gano  in  his  church, — who  was  a  friend  to 
my  father,  though  a  Baptist.  I  was  but  a  child,  and  he  cared 
for  me  for  three  years.  But  I  could  not  always  live  on  others' 
bounty;  so  he  yielded  to  my  desires  and  placed  me  as  servant 
to  Douw  Fonda,  who  was  at  that  time  visiting  New  York.  And 
so,  when  Mr.  Fonda  was  ready  to  go  home  to  Caughnawaga,  I 
accompanied  him." 

"And  are  his  aid  and  crutch  in  his  old  age,"  said  Lady  John- 
son, gently.  "What  wonder,  then,  he  wishes  to  adopt  you, 
Penelope  Grant." 

"If  you  will  be  my  companion,"  cried  Claudia,  "I  shall  dare 
adopt  you,  pretty  as  you  are — and  risk  losing  every  lover  I  pos- 
sess !" 

The  Scottish  girl's  brown  eyes  widened  at  that;  but  even 
Lady  Johnson  laughed,  and  I  saw  the  loveliest  smile  begin  to 
glimmer  on  Penelope's  soft  lips. 

"Thank  heaven  for  a  better  humour  in  the  house,"  thought 
I,  and  was  pleased  that  Claudia  had  made  a  gayety  of  the  affair. 

I  went  to  the  window  and  looked  out.  Smoke  from  the  camp 
fires  of  the  Continentals  made  a  haze  all  along  the  reedy  water- 
front. I  saw  their  sentries  walking  their  posts;  heard  the  noise 
of  their  axes  in  the  bush;  caught  a  glimpse  of  my  own  men 
lying  in  the  orchard  on  the  new  grass,  and  Nick  cooking  jerked 
meat  at  a  little  fire  of  coals,  which  gleamed  in  the  grass  like  a 
heap  of  dusty  jewels. 


100  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

And,  as  I  stood  a-watching,  I  felt  a  touch  at  my  elbow,  and 
turned  to  face  the  girl,  Penelope. 

"Your  promise,  sir,"  she  said.     "You  have  not  forgotten?" 

"No,"  I  replied,  flushing  again  under  Claudia's  mocking  gaze. 
"But  you  should  first  eat  something." 

"And  you,  also,"  said  Lady  Johnson,  coming  to  me  and  laying 
both  hands  upon  my  shoulders. 

She  looked  into  my  eyes  very  earnestly,  very  sadly. 

"Forgive  me,  Jack,"  she  said. 

I  kissed  her  hands,  saying  that  it  was  I  who  needed  forgive- 
ness, to  so  speak  to  her  in  her  deep  anxiety  and  unhappiness; 
but  she  shook  her  head  and  bade  me  remain  and  eat  breakfast; 
and  went  away  to  her  chamber  to  dress,  carrying  Claudia  to  aid 
her,  and  leaving  me  alone  there  with  the  girl  Penelope. 

"So,"  said  I  civilly,  though  still  annoyed  by  memory  of  my 
horse  and  how  this  girl  had  carried  everything  with  so  high  a 
hand,  "so  you  have  lived  in  France?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Hum!     Well,  did  you  find  the  people  agreeable?" 

"Yes,  sir — the  children.    I  was  but  fifteen  when  I  left  France." 

"Then  you  now  own  to  eighteen  years." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"A  venerable  age." 

At  that  she  lifted  her  brown  eyes.  I  smiled;  and  that  en- 
chanting, glimmering  smile  touched  her  lips  again.  And  I 
thought  of  what  I  had  heard  concerning  her  in  Caughnawaga, 
and  how,  when  the  old  gentleman  was  enjoying  his  afternoon 
nap,  she  was  accustomed  to  take  her  knitting  to  the  porch. 

And  I  remembered,  too,  what  Nick  and  others  said  concerning 
all  the  gallants  of  the  countryside,  how  they  swarmed  about  that 
porch  like  flies  around  a  sap-pan. 

"I  have  been  told,"  said  I,  "that  all  young  men  in  Tryon  sit 
ringed  around  you  when  you  take  your  knitting  to  the  porch  at 
Cayadutta  Lodge.  Nor  can  I  blame  them,  now  that  I  have  seen 
you  smile." 

At  that  she  blushed  so  brightly  that  I  was  embarrassed  and 
somewhat  astonished  to  see  how  small  a/ progress  this  girl  had 
really  made  in  coquetry.  I  was  to  learn  that  she  blushed  easily; 
I  did  not  know  it  then;  but  it  presently  amused  me  to  find  her, 
after  all,  so  unschooled. 

"Why,"  said  I,  "should  you  show  your  colours  to  a  passing 
craft  that  fires  no  shot  nor  even  thinks  to  board  you?  I  am 


SUMMER  HOUSE  POINT  101 

no  pirate,  Penelope;  like  those  Johnstown  gallants  who  gather 
like  flies,  they  say " 

But  I  checked  my  words,  not  daring  to  plague  her  further, 
for  the  colour  was  surging  in  her  cheeks  and  she  seemed  unac- 
customed to  such  harmless  bantering  as  mine. 

"Lord!"  thought  I,  "here  is  a  very  lie  that  this  maid  is  any 
such  siren  as  Nick  thinks  her,  for  her  pretty  thumb  is  still  wet 
with  sucking." 

Yet  I  myself  had  become  sensible  that  there  really  was  about 
her  a  something — exactly  what  I  knew  not — but  some  seductive 
quality,  some  vague  enchantment  about  her,  something  unusual 
which  compelled  men's  notice.  It  was  not,  I  thought,  entirely 
the  agreeable  contrast  of  yellow  hair  and  dark  eyes;  nor  a  smooth 
skin  like  new  snow  touched  to  a  rosy  hue  by  the  afterglow. 

She  sat  near  the  window,  where  I  stood  gazing  out  across  the 
water,  toward  the  mountains  beyond.  Her  hands,  joined,  rested 
flat  between  her  knees;  her  hair,  in  the  sun,  was  like  maple  gold 
reflected  in  a  ripple. 

"Lord!"  thought  I,  "small  wonder  that  the  gay  blades  of 
Tryon  should  come  a-meddling  to  undo  so  pretty  a  thing." 

But  the  thought  did  not  please  me,  yet  it  was  no  concern  o' 
mine.  But  I  now  comprehended  how  this  girl  might  attract  men, 
and,  strangely  enough,  was  sorry  for  it. 

For  it  seemed  plain  that  here  was  no  coquette  by  intention  or 
by  any  knowledge  of  the  art  of  pleasing  men;  but  she  was  one, 
nevertheless,  so  sweetly  her  dark  eyes  regarded  you  when  you 
spoke;  so  lovely  the  glimmer  of  her  smile. 

And  it  was,  no  doubt,  something  of  these  that  men  noticed 
— and  her  youth  and  inexperience,  which  is  tender  tinder  to  hard- 
ened flint  that  is  ever  eager  to  strike  fire  and  start  soft  stuff 
blazing. 


CHAPTEE  XH 

THE   SHAPE   IN    WHITE 

WE  breakfasted  on  soupaan,  new  milk,  johnnycake,  and 
troutlings  caught  by  Colas,  who  had  gone  by  canoe  to 
the  outlet  of  Hans'  Creek  by  daylight,  after  I  had  awakened  him. 
Which  showed  me  how  easily  one  could  escape  from  the  Sum- 
mer House,  in  spite  of  guards  patrolling  the  neck  and  mainland 
road. 

We  were  four  at  table;  Lady  Johnson,  Claudia,  Penelope,  and 
I;  and  all  seemed  to  be  in  better  humour,  for  Claudia's  bright 
eyes  were  ever  roaming  toward  the  Continental  camp,  where  smart 
officers  passed  and  repassed  in  the  bright  sunlight;  and  Lady 
Johnson  did  not  conceal  her  increasing  conviction  that  Sir  John 
had  got  clean  away;  which,  naturally,  pleased  the  poor  child 
mightily; — and  Penelope,  who  had  offered  very  simply  to  serve 
us  at  table,  sat  silent  and  contented  by  the  civil  usage  she  re- 
ceived from  Polly  Johnson,  who  told  her  very  sweetly  that  her 
place  was  in  a  chair  and  not  behind  it. 

"For,"  said  my  lady,  "a  parson's  daughter  may  serve  where 
her  heart  directs,  but  is  nowise  or  otherwise  to  be  unclassed." 

"Were  I  obliged  by  circumstances  to  labour  for  my  bread," 
said  Claudia,  "would  you  still  entertain  honourable  though  ardent 
sentiments  toward  me,  Jack?" 

Which  saucy  question  I  smiled  aside,  though  it  irritated  me, 
and  oddly,  too,  because  Penelope  Grant  had  heard — though  why 
I  should  care  a  farthing  for  that  I  myself  could  not  understand. 

Lady  Johnson  laid  a  hand  on  Penelope's,  who  looked  up  at 
her  with  that  shy,  engaging  smile  I  had  already  noticed.  And, 

"Penelope,"  said  she,  "if  rumour  does  not  lie,  and  if  all  our 
young  gallants  do  truly  gather  'round  when  you  take  your  knit- 
ting to  the  porch  of  Cayadutta  Lodge,  then  you  should  make 
it  very  plain  to  all  that  you  are  a  parson's  daughter  as  well  as 
servant  to  Douw  Fonda." 

"How  should  I  conduct,  my  lady?" 

"Firmly,  child.  And  send  any  light  o'  love  a-packing  at  the 
first  apropos!" 

102 


THE  SHAPE  IN  WHITE  103 

"Oh,  lud !"  says  Claudia,  "would  you  make  a  nun  of  her,  Polly  ? 
Sure  the  child  mast  learn " 

"Learn  to  take  care  of  herself/'  quoth  Polly  Johnson  tartly. 
"You  hare  been  schooled  from  childhood,  Claudia,  and  heaven 
knows  you  have  had  opportunities  enough  to  study  that  beast 
called  man!" 

"I   love  him,   too,"   said   Claudia.     "Do   you,   Penelope  V 

"Men  please  me,"  said  the  Scotch  girl  shyly.  "I  do  not  think 
them  beasts." 

"They  bite,"   snapped  Lady   Johnson. 

"Slap  them,"  said   Claudia, — "and  that  is   all  there  is  to   it." 

"You  think  any  man  ever  has  been  tamed  and  the  beast  cast 
out  of  him,  even  after  marriage?"  demanded  Lady  Johnson.  She 
snailed,  but  I  caught  the  undertone  of  bitterness  in  her  gaiety, 
poor  girl! 

"Before  marriage,"  said  Claudia  coolly,  "man  is  exactly  as 
treacherous  as  he  is  afterward; — no  more  so,  no  less.  What 
about  it?  You  take  the  creature  as  he  is  fashioned  by  his 
Maker,  or  you  drive  him  away  and  live  life  like  a  cloistered 
nun.  What  is  your  choice,  Penelope?" 

"I  have  no  passion  for  a  cloister,"  replied  the  girl,  so  candidly 
that  all  laughed,  and  she  blushed  prettily. 

"That  is  best,"  nodded  Claudia;  "accept  the  creature  as  he 
is.  We're  fools  if  we're  bitten  before  we're  married,  and  fortu- 
nate if  we're  not  nipped  afterward.  Anyway,  I  love  men,  and 
BO  God  bless  them,  for  they  can't  help  being  what  they  are  and 
it's  our  own  fault  if  they  play  too  roughly  and  hurt  us." 

Lady  Johnson  laughed  and  laid  her  hand  lightly  on  my  shoul- 
der. 

"Dear  Jack,"  said  she,  "we  do  not  mean  you,  of  course." 

"Oho!"  cried  Claudia,  "it's  in  'em  all  and  crops  out  one  day. 
Jack  Drogue  is  no  tamer  than  the  next  man.  Nay,  I  know  the 
sort — meek  as  a  mouse  among  petticoats " 

"Claudia !"  protested  Lady  Johnson. 

"I  hear  you,  Polly.  But  when  I  solemnly  swear  to  you  that 
I  have  been  afraid  of  this  young  man " 

"Afraid  of  what?"  said  I,  smiling  at  her  audacity,  but  vexed, 
too. 

"Afraid  you  might  undo  me,  Jack " 

"What!" 

" — And  then  refuse  me  an  honest  name " 

"What  mad  nonsense  do  you  chatter!"  exclaimed  Lady  John- 
son, out  of  countenance,  yet  laughing  at  Claudia's  effrontery. 


104  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

And  Penelope,  abashed,  laughed  a  little,  too.  But  Claudia's  non- 
sense madded  me,  though  her  speech  had  been  no  broader  than 
was  fashionable  among  a  gentry  so  closely  in  touch  with  Lon- 
don, where  speech,  and  manners,  too,  were  broader  still. 

Vexed  to  be  made  her  silly  butt,  I  sat  gazing  out  of  the  win- 
dow, over  the  great  Vlaie,  where,  in  the  reeds,  tall  herons  stood 
as  stiff  as  driven  stakes,  and  the  painted  wood-ducks,  gorgeous  as 
tropic  birds,  breasted  Mayfield  Creek,  or  whirred  along  the  water- 
ways to  and  fro  between  the  Stacking  Ridge  and  the  western 
bogs,  where  they  nested  among  trees  that  sloped  low  over  the 
water. 

Beyond,  painted  blue  mountains  ringed  the  vast  wilderness  of 
bog  and  woods  and  water;  and  presently  I  was  interested  to  see, 
on  the  blunt  nose  of  Maxon,  a  stain  of  smoke. 

I  watched  it  furtively,  paying  only  a  civil  heed  to  the  women's 
chatter  around  me — watched  it  with  sideway  glance  as  I  dipped 
my  spoon  into  the  smoking  soupaan  and  crumbled  my  johnny- 
cake. 

At  first,  on  Maxon's  nose  there  was  only  a  slight  blue  tint  of 
vapour,  like  a  spot  of  bloom  on  a  blue  plum.  But  now,  above 
the  mountain,  a  thin  streak  of  smoke  mounted  straight  up;  and 
presently  I  saw  that  it  became  jetted,  rising  in  rings  for  a  few 
moments. 

Suddenly  it  vanished. 

Claudia  was  saying  that  one  must  assume  all  officers  of  either 
party  to  be  gentlemen;  but  Lady  Johnson  entertained  the  propo- 
sition coldly,  and  seemed  unwilling  to  invite  Continental  offi- 
cers to  a  dish  of  tea. 

"Not  because  they  are  my  captors  and  have  driven  my  hus- 
band out  of  his  own  home,"  she  said  haughtily;  "I  could  over- 
look that,  because  it  is  the  fortune  of  war.  But  it  is  said  that 
the  Continental  officers  are  a  parcel  of  Yankee  shop-keepers, 
and  I  have  no  desire  to  receive  such  people  on  equal  footing." 

"But,"  said  Claudia,  "Jack  is  a  rebel  officer,  and  so  is  Billy 
Alexander." 

"I  think  Lord  Stirling  must  be  crazy,"  retorted  Lady  John- 
son. Then  she  looked  at  me,  bit  her  lip  and  laughed,  adding: 

"You,  too,  Jack — and  every  gentleman  among  you  must  be 
mad  to  flout  our  King!" 

"Mad,  indeed — and  therefore  to  be  pitied,  not  punished,"  says 
Claudia.  "Therefore,  let  us  drink  tea  with  our  rebel  officers, 
Polly — out  of  sheer  compassion  for  their  common  infirmity." 

"We  rebels  don't  drink  tea,  you  know,"  said  I,  smiling. 


THE  SHAPE  IN  WHITE  105 

"Oh,  la!  Wait  till  we  invite  your  Continentals  yonder.  For, 
if  Polly  and  I  are  to  be  imprisoned  here,  I  vow  I  mean  to  amuse 
myself  with  the  likeliest  of  these  young  men  in  blue  and  buff, 
whom  I  can  see  yonder,  stalking  to  and  fro  along  the  Johnstown 
Road.  May  I  not  send  them  a  civil  invitation,  Polly?" 

"If  you  insist.  I,  however,  decline  to  meet  them,"  pouted 
Lady  Johnson. 

"I  shall  write  a  little  letter  to  their  commanding  officer,"  quoth 
Claudia.  "Do  as  you  like,  Polly,  but,  as  for  me,  I  do  not  de- 
sire to  perish  of  dullness  with  only  women  to  talk  to,  and  only 
a  swamp  to  gaze  upon !" 

She  sprang  to  her  feet;  Lady  Johnson  and  Penelope  also  rose, 
as  did  I. 

"Is  it  true,  Jack,  that  you  are  under  promise  to  take  this 
young  girl  to  Douw  Fonda's  house  in  Caughnawaga  ?"  asked 
Lady  Johnson. 

"Yes,  madam." 

She  turned  to  Penelope:     "When  do  you  desire  to  set  out?" 

"As  soon  as  may  be,  my  lady." 

"I  like  you.  I  wish  you  would  remain  and  share  my  loneli- 
ness." 

"I  would,  my  lady,  only  I  feel  in  honour  bound  to  go  to  Mr. 
Fonda." 

Claudia  passed  her  arm  around  the  Scottish  girl's  slim  waist. 

"Come,"  she  coaxed,  "be  my  companion!  Be  more  friend  than 
servant,  more  sister  than  friend.  For  I,  also,  begin  to  love  you, 
with  your  dark  eyes  and  yellow  hair,  and  your  fine  hands  and 
sweet,  fresh  skin,  like  a  child  from  a  bath." 

They  both  laughed,  looking  at  each  other  with  a  gaze  shy  but 
friendly,  like  two  who  seem  to  think  they  are,  perhaps,  destined 
to  love  each  other. 

"I  wish  I  might  remain,"  said  the  Scottish  girl,  reluctantly 
turning  toward  me. 

"Are  you  for  Caughnawaga?"  I  asked  bluntly. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Very  well,"  said  I.  'Tolly  Johnson,  may  I  take  your  car- 
riage?" 

"It  is  always  at  your  command,  Jack.  But  I  am  sorry  that 
our  little  Scottish  lass  must  go." 

However,  she  gave  the  order  to  black  Colas,  who  must  drive 

us,  also,  because,  excepting  for  Colas  and  poor  Flora,  and  one 

,,  slave  left  in  Johnstown,  all  servants,  slaves,  tenants,  and  officers 

of  Sir  John's  household  had  fled  with  the  treacherous  Baronet 


106  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

and  were  now  God  knows  where  in  the  terrific  wilderness  and 
making,  without  doubt,  for  the  Canadas. 

For  personal  reasons  I  was  glad  that  the  dishonoured  man 
was  gone.  I  should  have  been  ashamed  to  take  him  prisoner. 
But  I  was  deeply  troubled  on  other  accounts;  for  this  man  had 
gone  northward  with  hundreds  of  my  old  neighbors,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  forming  an  army  of  white  men  and  Indians,  with  which 
he  promised  to  return  and  cut  our  throats  and  lay  our  beautiful 
countryside  in  ashes. 

We  had  scarce  any  foroe  to  oppose  Sir  John;  no  good  forts 
except  Stanwix  and  a  few  block -housen ;  our  newly-organized  civil 
government  was  chaotic;  our  militia  untried,  unreliable,  poorly 
armed,  and  still  rotten  with  toryism. 

To  defend  all  this  immense  Tryon  County  frontier,  including 
the  river  as  far  as  Albany,  only  one  regular  regiment  had  been 
sent  to  help  us;  for  what  remained  of  the  State  Line  was  needed 
below,  where  His  Excellency  was  busy  massing  an  army  to  face 
the  impending  thunder-clap  from  England. 

As  I  stood  by  the  window,  looking  out  across  the  Vlaie  at 
Maxon  Ridge,  where  I  felt  very  sure  that  hostile  eyes  were  watch- 
ing the  Sacandaga  and  this  very  house,  a  hand  touched  my  arm, 
and,  turning,  I  saw  Penelope  Grant  beside  me. 

''May  I  have  a  word  alone  with  you,  Mr.  Drogue?"  she  asked 
in  her  serious  and  graver  way — a  way  as  winning  as  her  lighter 
mood,  I  thought. 

So  we  went  out  to  the  veranda  and  walked  a  little  way  among 
the  apple  trees,  slowly,  I  waiting  to  hear  what  she  had  for  my 
ear  alone. 

Beyond,  by  the  well,  I  saw  my  Rangers  squatting  cross-legged 
on  the  grass  in  a  little  circle,  playing  at  stick-knife.  Beyond 
them  a  Continental  soldier  paced  his  beat  in  front  of  the  gate 
which  closed  the 'mainland  road. 

Birds  sang,  sunshine  glimmered  on  the  water,  the  sky  was 
softly  blue. 

The  girl  had  paused  under  a  fruit  tree.  Now,  she  pulled 
down  an  apple  branch  and  set  her  nose  to  the  blossoms,  breathing 
their  fresh  scent. 

"Well,"  said  I,  quietly. 

Her  level  eyes  met  mine  across  the  flowering  branch. 

"I  am  sorry  to  disturb  you,"  said  she. 

"How  disturb  me?" 


THE  SHAPE  IN  WHITE  107 

"By  obliging  you  to  take  me  to  Caughnawaga.  It  inconven- 
iences you." 

"I  promised  to  see  you  safely  there,  and  that  is  all  about  it," 
said  I  drily. 

'Yes,  sir.  But  I  ask  your  pardon  for  exacting  your  prom- 
ise. .  .  .  And — I  ask  pardon  for — for  stealing  your  horse." 

There  seemed  to  ensue  a  longer  silence  than  I  intended,  and  I 
realized  that  I  had  been  looking  at  her  without  other  thought 
than  of  her  dark,  young  eyes  under  her  yellow  hair. 

"What  did  you  say?"  I  asked  absently. 

She  hesitated,  then:     "You  do  not  like  me,  Mr.  Drogue." 

"Did  I  say  so  ?"  said  I,  startled. 

"No.  ...  I  feel  that  you  do  not  like  me.  Is  it  because  I 
used  you  without  decency  when  I  stole  your  horse?" 

"Perhaps  some  trifling  chagrin  remains.  But  it  is  now  over — 
because  you  say  you  are  sorry." 

"I  am  so." 

"Then — I  am  friendly — if  you  so  desire,  Penelope  Grant." 

"Yes,  sir,  I  do  desire  your  countenance." 

I  smiled  at  her  gravity,  and  saw,  dawning  in  return,  that 
lovely,  child's  smile  I  already  knew  and  waited  for. 

"I  wish  to  whisper  to  you,"  said  she,  bending  the  flowering 
bough  lower. 

So  I  inclined  my  ear  across  it,  and  felt  her  delicate  breath 
against  my  cheek. 

"I  wish  to  make  known  to  you  that  I  am  of  your  party,  Mr. 
Drogue,"  she  whispered. 

I  nodded  approval. 

"I  wished  you  to  know  that  I  am  a  friend  to  liberty,"  she  con- 
tinued. "My  sentiment  is  very  ardent,  Mr.  Drogue:  I  burn 
with  desire  to  serve  this  land,  to  which  my  father's  wish  has 
committed  me.  I  am  young,  strong,  not  afraid.  I  can  load? 
and  shoot  a  pistol " 

"Good  Lord!"  I  exclaimed,  laughing,  "do  you  wish  to  enlist 
and  go  for  a  soldier?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

I  drew  back  in  amazement  and  looked  at  her,  and  she  blushed 
but  made  me  a  firm  countenance.  And  so  sweetly  solemn  a  face 
did  this  maid  pull  at  me  that  I  could  not  forbear  to  laugh  again. 

"But  how  about  Mr.  Fonda?"  I  demanded,  "if  you  don  jack- 
boots and  hanger  and  go  for  a  dragoon?" 

"I  shall  ask  his  permission  to  serve  my  country." 

"A-horse,  Penelope?    Or  do  you  march  with  fire-lock  and  knap- 


108  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

sack  and  a  well-floured  queue?"  I  had  meant  to  turn  it  lightly 
but  not  to  ridicule;  but  ber  lip  quivered,  though  she  still  found 
courage  to  sustain  my  laughing  gaze. 

"Come,"  said  I,  "we  Tryon  County  men  have  as  yet  no  need 
to  call  upon  our  loyal  women  to  shoulder  rifle  and  fill  out  our 
ranks." 

"No  need  of  me,  sir?" 

"Surely,  surely,  but  not  yet  to  such  a  pass  that  we  strap  a 
bayonet  on  your  thigh.  Sew  for  us.  Knit  for  us " 

"Sir,  for  three  years  I  have  done  so,  foreseeing  this  hour.  I 
have  knitted  many,  many  score  o'  stockings;  sewed  many  a  shirt 
against  this  day  that  is  now  arrived.  I  have  them  in  Mr.  Fonda's 
house,  against  my  country's  needs.  All,  or  a  part,  are  at  your 
requisition,  Mr.  Drogue." 

But  I  remained  mute,  astonished  that  this  girl  had  seen  so 
clearly  what  so  few  saw  at  all — that  war  must  one  day  come 
between  us  and  our  King.  This  foreseeing  of  hers  amazed  me 
even  more  than  her  practical  provision  for  the  day  of  wrath — 
now  breaking  red  on  our  horizon — that  she  had  seen  so  clearly 
what  must  happen — a  poor  refugee — a  child. 

"Sir,"  says  she,  "have  you  any  use  for  the  stockings  and  shirts 
among  your  men?" 

She  stood  resting  both  arms  on  the  bent  bough,  her  face  among 
the  flowers.  And  I  don't  know  how  I  thought  of  it,  or  remem- 
bered that  in  Scotland  there  are  some  who  have  the  gift  of  clear 
vision  and  who  see  events  before  they  arrive — nay,  even  foretell 
and  forewarn. 

And,  looking  at  her,  I  asked  her  if  that  were  true  of  her.  And 
saw  the  tint  of  pink  apple  bloom  stain  her  face;  and  her  dark 
eyes  grow  shy  and  troubled. 

"Is  it  that  way  with  you?"  I  repeated.  "Do  you  see  more 
clearly  than  ordinary  folk?" 

"Yes,  sir — sometimes." 

"Not  always?" 

"No,  sir." 

"But  if  you  desire  to  penetrate  the  future  and  strive  to  do 
so " 

"No,  sir,  I  can  not  if  I  try.  Visions  come  unsought — even 
undesired." 

"Is  effort  useless?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Then  this  strange  knowledge  of  the  future  comes  of  itself* 
unbidden?" 


THE  SHAPE  IN  WHITE  109 

"Unbidden — when  it  comes  at  all.  It  is  like  a  flash — then 
darkness.  But  the  glimpse  has  convinced  me,  and  I  am  fore- 
warned." 

I  pondered  this  for  a  space,  then: 

"Could  you  tell  me  anything  concerning  how  this  war  is  to 
end?" 

"I  do  not  know,  Mr.  Drogue." 

I  considered.  Then,  again:  "Have  you  any  knowledge  of 
what  Fate  intends  concerning  yourself?" 

"No,  sir." 

tcNo thing  regarding  your  own  future?     That  is  strange." 

She  shook  her  head,  watching  me.    And  then  I  laughed  lightly: 

"Nothing,  by  any  chance,  concerning  me,  Penelope?" 

"Yes." 

I  was  so  startled  that  I  found  no  word  to  question  her. 

"There  is  to  be  a  battle,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice.  "Men  will 
fight  in  the  North.  I  do  not  know  when.  But  there  will  be 
strange  uniforms  in  the  woods — not  British  redcoats.  .  .  .  And 
I  know  you,  also,  are  to  be  there."  Her  voice  sank  to  a  whis- 
per. .  .  .  "And  there,"  she  breathed,  "you  shall  meet  Death  .  .  . 
or  Love." 

When  presently  my  composure  returned  to  me,  and  I  saw  her 
still  regarding  me  across  the  apple-bough,  I  felt  inclined  to  laugh. 

"When  did  this  strange  knowledge  come  to  you  ?"  I  asked,  smil- 
ing my  unbelief. 

"The  day  I  first  heard  your  voice  at  my  cousin  Bowman's — 
waking  me  in  my  bed — and  I  came  out  and  saw  you  in  the  eye 
of  the  rising  sun.  And  you  were  not  alone.  And  instantly  I 
saw  a  strange  battle  that  is  not  yet  fought — and  I  saw  you — the 
way  you  stood — there — dark  and  straight  in  a  blinding  sheet  of 
yellow  light  made  by  cannon!  .  .  .  The  world  was  aflame,  and 
I  saw  you,  tall  and  dark,  shadowed  against  the  blaze — but  you 
did  not  fall. 

"Then  I  came  to  my  senses,  and  heard  the  bell  ringing,  and 
asked  you  what  it  meant.  Do  you  remember?" 

"Yes." 

She  released  the  apple-bough  and  came  under  it  toward  me, 
through  a  snow  of  falling  blossoms. 

"It  will  surely  happen — this  battle,"  she  said.  "I  knew  it  when 
I  saw  you,  and  that  other  figure  near  you,  where  I  sat  your 
stolen  horse  and  heard  you  shout  at  me  in  anger,  and  turned  to 
look  at  you — then,  also,  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  that  oilier  figure 
near  you." 


110  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

"What  other  figure?" 

The  one  which  was  wrapped  in  white — like  a  winding  sheet 
— and  veiled.  .  .  .  Like  Death.  ...  Or  a  bride,  perhaps." 

A  slight  chill  went  over  me,  even  in  the  warmth  of  the  sun. 
But  I  laughed  and  said  I  knew  not  which  would  be  the  less 
welcome,  having  no  stomach  for  Master  Death,  and  even  less, 
perhaps,  for  Mistress  Bride. 

"Doubtless,"  said  I,  "you  saw  some  ghost  of  the  morning  mist 
afloat  from  the  wet  earth  where  I  stood." 

She  made  no  answer. 

Now,  as  the  carriage  still  tarried,  though  I  had  seen  Colas 
taking  out  the  horses,  I  asked  her  indulgence  for  a  few  moments, 
and  walked  over  to  the  well,  where  my  men  still  sat  at  stick-knife. 
And  here  I  called  Nick  aside  and  laid  one  hand  on  his  shoulder: 

"There  was  Indian  smoke  on  Maxon  an  hour  ago,"  said  I. 
"Take  Johnny  Silver  and  travel  the  war  trail  north,  but  do  not 
cross  the  creek  to  the  east.  I  go  as  armed  escort  for  a  traveller 
to  Caughnawaga,  and  shall  return  as  soon  as  may  be.  Learn 
what  you  can  and  meet  me  here  by  sunrise  tomorrow." 

Nick  grinned  and  cast  a  sidelong  glance  at  Penelope  Grant, 
where  she  stood  in  the  orchard,  watching  us. 

"Scotched  by  the  Scotch,"  said  he.  "Adam  fell ;  and  so  I  knew 
you'd  fall  one  day,  John — in  an  apple  orchard!  Lord  Harry  1 
but  she's  a  pretty  baggage,  too!  Only  take  care,  John!  for  she's 
soft  and  young  and  likes  to  be  courted,  and  there's  plenty  to 
oblige  her  when  you're  away!" 

"Let  them  oblige  her  then,"  said  I,  vexed,  though  I  knew  not 
why.  "She  stole  my  horse  and  would  not  surrender  him  until 
I  pledged  my  word  to  give  her  escort  back  to  Caughnawaga. 
And  that  is  all  my  story — if  it  interests  you." 

"It  does  so,"  said  he,  his  tongue  in  his  cheek.  At  which  I 
turned  away  in  a  temper,  and  encountered  an  officer,  in  militia 
regimentals  of  the  Caughnawaga  Eegiment,  coming  through  the 
orchard  toward  me. 

"Hallo,  Jack!"  he  called  out  to  me,  and  I  saw  he  was  a  friend 
of  mine,  Major  Jelles  Fonda,  and  hastened  to  offer  him  his  of- 
ficer's salute. 

When  he  had  rendered  it,  he  gave  me  his  honest  hand,  and  we 
linked  arms  and  walked  together  toward  the  house,  exchanging 
gossip  concerning  how  it  went  with  our  cause  in  Johnstown  and 
Caughnawaga.  For  the  Fonda  clan  was  respectable  and  strong 
among  the  landed  gentry  of  Tryon,  and  it  meant  much  to  the 
cause  of  liberty  that  all  the  Fondas,  I  think  without  exception, 


THE  SHAPE  IN  WHITE  111 

had  stood  sturdily  for  their  own  people  at  a  time  when  the  vast 
majority  of  the  influential  and  well-to-do  had  stood  for  their 
King. 

When  we  drew  near  the  house,  Major  Fonda  perceived  Penelope 
and  went  at  once  to  her. 

She  dropped  him  a  curtsey,  but  he  took  her  hands  and  kissed 
her  on  both  cheeks. 

"I  heard  you  were  here,"  said  he.  "We  sent  old  Douw  Fonda 
to  Albany  for  safety,  not  knowing  what  is  like  to  come  upon 
us  out  o'  that  damned  Canada.  And,  knowing  you  had  gone  to 
your  cousin  Bowman's,  I  rode  over  to  my  Bush,  got  news  of  you 
through  a  Mayfield  militia  man,  and  trailed  you  here.  And 
now,  mv  girl,  you  may  take  your  choice;  go  to  Albany  and  sit 
snug  with  the  Patroon  until  this  tempest  breaks  and  blows  over, 
or  go  to  Johnstown  Fort  with  me." 

"Does  not  Douw  Fonda  need  me?"  she  asked. 
"Only   your   pretty   face    and    sweet   presence    to    amuse   him. 
But,  until  we  are  certain  that  Sir  John  and  Guy  Johnson   do 
not  mean  to  return  and  murder  us  in  our  beds,  Douw  Fonda  will 
not  live  in  Caughnawaga,  and  so  needs  no  housekeeper." 

"Why  not  remain  here  with  Lady  Johnson  and  Mistress  Swift," 
said  I,  "until  we  learn  what  to  expect  from  Sir  John  and  his 
friends  in  Canada  ?  These  ladies  are  alone  and  in  great  anxiety 
and  sorrow.  And  you  could  be  of  aid  and  service  and  comfort." 
What  made  me  say  this  I  do  not  know.  But,  somehow,  I  did 
not  seem  to  wish  this  girl  to  go  to  Albany,  where  there  were 
many  gay  young  men  and  much  profligacy. 

To  sit  on  Douw  Fonda's  porch  with  her  knitting  was  one 
thing,  and  the  sap-pan  gallants  had  little  opportunity  to  turn 
the  head  of  this  inexperienced  girl;  but  Albany  was  a  very  dif- 
ferent matter;  and  this  maid,  who  said  that  she  liked  men,  alone 
there  with  only  an  aged  man  to  stand  between  her  and  idle, 
fashionable  youth,  might  very  easily  be  led  into  indiscretions. 
The  mere  thought  of  which  caused  me  so  lively  a  vexation  that 
I  was  surprised  at  myself. 

And  now  I  perceived  the  carriage,  with  horses  harnessed,  and 
Colas  in  a  red  waistcoat  and  a  red  and  green  cockade  on  his 
beaver. 

We  walked  together  to  the  Summer  House.  Lady  Johnson 
came  out  on  the  veranda,  and  Claudia  followed  her. 

When  they  saw  Major  Fonda,  they  bowed  to  him  very  coolly, 
and  he  made  them  both  a  stately  salute,  shrugged  his  epaulettes, 
ftnd  took  snuff. 


112  THE  LITTLE  BED  FOOT 

Lady  Johnson  said  to  Penelope:  "Are  you  decided  on  aban- 
doning two  lonely  women  to  their  own  devices,  Penelope?" 

"Do  you  really  mean  to  leave  me,  who  could  love  you  very 
dearly?"  demanded  Claudia,  coming  down  and  taking  the  girl 
by  both  hands. 

"If  you  wish  it,  I  am  now  at  liberty  to  remain  with  you  till 
Mr.  Fonda  sends  for  me,"  replied  Penelope.  "But  I  have  no 
clothes." 

Claudia  embraced  her  with  rapture.  "Come  to  my  room, 
darling!"  she  cried,  "and  you  shall  divide  with  me  every  stitch 
I  own!  And  then  we  shall  dress  each  other's  hair!  Shall  we 
not?  And  we  shall  be  very  fine  to  drink  a  dish  of  tea  with  our 
friends,  the  enemy,  yonder!" 

She  flung  her  arm  around  Penelope.  Going,  the  girl  looked 
around  at  me.  "Thank  you  for  great  kindness,  my  lord,"  she 
called  back  softly. 

Lady  Johnson  said  in  a  cold  voice  to  Major  Fonda:  "If  our 
misfortunes  have  not  made  us  contemptible  to  you,  sir,  we  are 
at  home  to  receive  any  enemy  officer  who,  like  yourself,  Major, 
chances  to  be  also  a  gentleman." 

"Damnation,  Polly!"  says  he  with  a  short  laugh,  "don't  treat 
an  old  beau  to  such  stiff-neck  language!  You  know  cursed  well 
I'd  go  down  on  both  knees  and  kiss  your  shoes,  though  I'd  kick 
the  King's  shins  if  I  met  him !" 

He  passed  his  arm  through  mine;  we  both  bowed  very  low, 
then  went  away  together,  arm  in  arm,  the  Major  fuming  under 
his  breath. 

"Silly  baggage,"  he  muttered,  "to  treat  an  old  friend  so  high 
and  mighty.  Dash  it,  what's  come  over  these  Johnstown  gen- 
tlemen and  ladies.  Can't  we  fight  one  another  politely  but  they 
must  affect  to  treat  us  as  dirt  beneath  their  feet,  who  once  were 
welcome  at  their  tables?" 

At  the  well  I  called  to  my  men,  who  got  up  from  the  grass 
and  greeted  Major  Fonda  with  unmilitary  familiarity. 

"Major,"  said  I,  "we're  off  to  scout  the  Sacandaga  trail  and 
learn  what  we  can.  It's  cold  sniffing,  now,  on  Sir  John's  heels, 
but  there  was  Iroquois  smoke  on  old  .Maxon  this  morning,  and 
I  should  like  at  least  to  poke  the  dead  ashes  of  that  same  fire 
before  moonrise." 

"Certainly,"  said  the  Major,  gravely;   and  we  shook  hands. 

"Now,  Nick,"  said  I  briskly. 

"Ready,"  said  he;  and  "Ready!"  repeated  every  man. 

So,  rifle  a-trail,  I  led  the  way  out  into  the  Fish  House  road. 


CHAPTER  XIH 

THE  DROWNED   LANDS 

FOR  two  weeks  my  small  patrol  of  six  remained  in  the  vi- 
cinity of  the  Sacandaga,  scouting  even  as  far  as  Stony 
Creek,  Silver  Lake,  and  West  River,  covering  Maxon,  too,  and 
the  Drowned  Lands,  but  ever  hovering  about  the  Sacandaga, 
where  the  great  Iroquois  War  Trail  runs  through  the  dusk  of 
primeval  woods. 

But  never  a  glimpse  of  Sir  John  did  we  obtain.  Which  was 
scarcely  strange,  inasmuch  as  the  scent  was  already  stone  cold 
when  we  first  struck  it.  And  though  we  could  trace  the  Baronet's 
headlong  flight  for  three  days'  journey,  by  his  dead  fires  and 
stinking  camp  debris,  and,  plainer  still,  by  the  trampled  path 
made  by  his  men  and  horses  and  by  the  wheel-marks  of  at  least 
one  cannon,  our  orders,  which  were  to  stop  the  War  Trail  from 
Northern  enemies,  permitted  no  further  pursuit. 

Yet,  given  permission,  I  think  I  could  have  come  up  with  him 
and  his  motley  forces,  though  what  my  six  scouts  could  have  ac- 
complished against  nearly  two  hundred  people  is  but  idle  sur- 
mise. And  whether,  indeed,  we  could  have  contrived  to  surprise 
and  capture  Sir  John,  and  bring  him  back  to  justice,  is  a  matter 
now  fit  only  for  idlest  speculation. 

At  the  end  of  the  first  week  I  sent  Joe  de  Golyer  and  Godfrey 
Shew  into  Johnstown  to  acquaint  Colonel  Dayton  of  what  we 
had  seen  and  what  we  guessed  concerning  Sir  John's  probable 
route.  DeLuysnes  and  Johnny  Silver  I  stationed  on  Maxon's 
honest  nose,  where  the  valley  of  the  Sacandaga  and  the  Drowned 
Lands  lay  like  a  vast  map  at  their  feet,  while  Nick  Stoner  and 
I  prowled  the  silent  Iroquois  trail  or  slid  like  a  pair  of  otters 
through  the  immense  desolation  of  the  Drowned  Lands,  from 
the  jungle-like  recesses  of  which  we  could  see  the  distant  glit- 
ter of  muskets  where  our  garrison  was  drilling  at  Fish  House, 
and  a  white  speck  to  the  southward,  which  marked  the  little 
white  and  green  lodge  at  Summer  House  Point. 

We  had  found  a  damaged  birch  canoe  near  the  Stacking  Ridge, 
and  I  think  it  was  the  property  of  John  Howell,  who  lived  on  the 

113 


114  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

opposite  side  of  the  creek  a  mile  above.  But  his  log  house  stood 
bolted  and  empty;  and,  as  he  was  a  very  rabid  Tory,  we  helped 
ourselves  to  his  old  canoe,  and  Nick  patched  it  with  gum  and 
made  two  paddles. 

In  this  leaky  craft  we  threaded  the  spectral  Drowned  Lands, 
penetrating  every  hidden  water-lead,  every  concealed  creek,  every 
lost  pond  which  glimmered  unseen  amid  cranberry  bogs,  vast  wastes 
of  stunted  willow,  pinxter  shrubs  in  bloom,  and  the  endless  wil- 
derness of  reeds.  Nesting  black-ducks  rose  on  clattering  wings 
in  scores  and  scores  at  our  stealthy  invasion;  herons  and  bitterns 
flapped  heavily  skyward;  great  chain-pike,  as  long  as  a  young 
boy,  slid  like  shadows  under  our  dipping  paddles.  But  we  saw 
no  Indians. 

Nor  was  there  a  sign  of  any  canoe  amid  the  Drowned  Lands; 
not  a  moccasin  print  in  swamp-moss  or  mud;  no  trace  of  Iro- 
quois  on  the  Stacking  Ridge,  where  already  wild  pigeons  were 
flying  among  the  beech  and  oak  trees,  busy  with  courtship  and 
nesting. 

It  was  now  near  the  middle  of  June,  but  Nick  thought  that 
Sir  John  had  not  yet  reached  Canada,  nor  was  like  to  accomplish 
that  terrible  journey  through  a  pathless  wilderness  under  a  full 
month. 

We  know  now  that  he  did  accomplish  it  in  nineteen  days,  and 
arrived  with  his  starving  people  in  a  terrible  plight.*  But  no- 
body then  supposed  it  possible  that  he  could  travel  so  quickly. 
Even  his  own  Mohawks  never  dreamed  he  was  already  so  far 
advanced  on  his  flight;  and  this  was  their  vital  mistake;  for 
there  had  been  sent  from  Canada  a  war  party  to  meet  and  aid 
Sir  John;  and,  by  hazard,  I  was  to  learn  of  this  alarming  busi- 
ness in  a  manner  I  had  neither  expected  nor  desired. 

I  was  sitting  on  a  great,  smooth  bowlder,  where  the  little  trout 
stream,  which  tumbles  down  Maxon  from  the  east,  falls  into 
Hans  Creek.  It  was  a  still  afternoon  and  very  warm  in  the 
sun,  but  pleasant  there,  where  the  confluence  of  the  waters  made 
a  cool  and  silvery  clashing-noise  among  the  trees  in  full  new 
leaf. 

Nick  had  cooked  dinner — parched  corn  and  trout,  which  we 
caught  in  the  brook  with  one  of  my  fish  hooks  and  a  red  wampum 
bead  from  my  moccasins  tied  above  the  barb. 

And  now,  dinner  ended,  Nick  lay  asleep  with  a  mat  of  moss 

*  One  of  his  abandoned  brass  cannon  is — or  receatly  waa — lying  em- 
bedded in  a  swamp  in  the  North  Woods. 


THE  DROWNED  LANDS  115 

ever  his  face  to  keep  off  black  flies,  and  I  mounted  guard,  not 
because  I  apprehended  danger,  but  desired  not  to  break  a  mili- 
tary rule  which  had  become  already  a  habit  among  my  hand- 
ful of  men. 

I  was  seated,  as  I  say,  on  a  bowlder,  with  my  legs  hanging 
over  the  swirling  water  and  my  rifle  across  both  knees.  And 
I  was  thinking  those  vague  and  dreamy  *  thoughts  which  float 
ghost-like  through  young  men's  minds  when  skies  are  blue  in 
early  summer  and  life  seems  but  an  endless  vista  through  un- 
numbered asons  to  come. 

Through  a  pleasant  and  reflective  haze  which  possessed  my 
mind  moved  figures  of  those  I  knew  or  had  known — my  hon- 
oured father,  grave,  dark-eyed,  deliberate  in  all  things,  living 
for  intellectual  pleasure  alone; — my  dear  mother,  ardent  yet 
timid,  thrilled  ever  by  what  was  most  beautiful  and  best  in  the 
world,  and  loving  all  things  made  by  God. 

I  thought,  too,  of  my  silly  kinsman  in  Paris,  Lord  Stormont, 
and  how  I  had  declined  his  pompous  patronage,  to .  carve  for 
myself  a  career,  aided  by  the  slender  means  afforded  me;  and 
how  Billy  Alexander  did  use  me  very  kindly — a  raw  youth  in  a 
New  York  school,  left  suddenly  orphaned  and  alone. 

I  thought  of  Stevie  Watts,  of  Polly,  of  the  DeLancys,  Crugers, 
and  other  King's  people  who  had  made  me  welcome,  doubtless 
for  the  sake  of  my  Lord  Stormont.  And  how  I  finally  came  to 
know  Sir  William  Johnson,  and  his  great  kindness  to  me. 

All  these  things  I  thought  of  in  the  golden  afternoon,  seated 
by  Hans  Creek,  my  eyes  on  duty,  my  thoughts  a-gypsying  far 
afield,  where  I  saw,  in  my  mind's  eye,  my  log  house  in  Fonda's 
Bush,  my  new-cleared  land,  my  neighbors'  houses,  the  dark  walls 
of  the  forest. 

Yet,  drifting  between  each  separate  memory,  glided  ever  a 
slender  shape  with  yellow  hair,  and  young,  unfathomed  eyes  as 
dark  as  the  velvet  on  the  wings  of  that  earliest  of  all  our  but- 
terflies, which  we  call  the  Beauty  of  Camberwell. 

Think  of  whom  I  might,  or  of  what  scenes,  always  this  slim 
phantom  drifted  in  between  the  sequences  of  thought,  and 
vaguely  I  seemed  to  see  her  yellow  hair,  and  that  glimmer  which 
sometimes  came  into  her  eyes,  and  which  was  the  lovely  dawning 
of  her  smile. 

War  seemed  very  far  away,  death  but  a  fireside  story  half  for- 
gotten. For  my  thoughts  were  growing  faintly  fragrant  with 
the  scent  of  apple  blossoms — white  and  pink  bloom — sweet  as  her 
breath  when  she  had  whispered  to  me. 


116  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

A  strange  young  thing  to  haunt  me  with  her  fragrance — 
this  girl  Penelope — her  smooth  hands  and  snowy  skin — and  her 
little  naked  feet,  like  whitest  silver  there  in  the  dew  at  Bow- 
man's  

Suddenly,  thought  froze;  from  the  foliage  across  the  creek, 
scarce  twenty  feet  from  where  I  sat,  and  without  the  slightest 
sound,  stepped  an  Indian  in  his  paint. 

Like  a  shot  squirrel  I  dropped  behind  my  bowlder  and  lay 
flat  among  the  shore  ferns,  my  heart  so  wild  that  my  levelled 
rifle  shook  with  the  shock  of  palsy. 

The  roar  of  the  waters  was  loud  in  my  ears,  but  his  calm  voice 
came  through  it  distinctly: 

"Peace,  brother!"  he  said  in  the  soft,  Oneida  dialect,  and 
lifted  his  right  hand  high  in  the  sunshine,  the  open  palm  turned 
toward  me. 

"Don't  move!"  I  called  across  the  stream.  "Lay  your  blanket 
on  the  ground  and  place  your  gun  across  it!" 

Calmly  he  obeyed,  then  straightened  up  and  stood  there  empty 
handed,  naked  in  his  paint,  except  for  the  beaded  breadth  of 
deer-skin  that  fell  from  belt  to  knee. 

"Nick!"  I  called  cautiously. 

"I  am  awake  and  I  have  laid  him  over  my  rifle-sight,"  came 
Nick's  voice  from  the  woods  behind  me.  "Look  sharp,  John, 
that  there  be  not  others  ambuscaded  along  the  bank." 

"He  could  have  killed  me,"  said  I,  "without  showing  himself. 
By  his  paint  I  take  him  for  an  Oneida." 

"That's  Oneida  paint,"  replied  Nick,  cautiously,  "but  it's  war 
paint,  all  the  same.  Shall  I  let  him  have  it?" 

"Not  yet.  The  Oneidas,  so  far,  have  been  friendly.  For  God's 
sake,  be  careful  what  you  do." 

"Best  parley  quick  then,"  returned  Nick,  "for  I  trust  no  Iro- 
quois.  You  know  his  lingo.  Speak  to  him." 

I  called  across  the  stream  to  the  Indian:  "Who  are  you, 
brother?  What  is  your  nation  and  what  is  your  clan,  and  what 
are  you  doing  on  the  Sacandaga,  with  your  face  painted  in  black 
and  yellow  bars,  and  fresh  oil  on  your  limbs  and  lock?" 

He  said,  in  his  quiet  but  distinct  voice:  "My  nation  is 
Oneida;  my  clan  is  the  Tortoise;  I  am  Tahioni.  I  am  a  young 
and  inexperienced  warrior.  No  scalp  yet  hangs  from  my  girdle. 
I  come  as  a  friend.  I  come  as  my  brother's  ally.  This  is  the 
reason  that  I  seek  my  brother  on  the  Sacandaga.  Hiero !  Tahioni 
has  spoken." 

And  he  quietly  folded  his  arms. 


THE  DROWNED  LANDS  117 

He  was  a  magnificent  youth,  quite  perfect  in  limb  and  body, 
and  as  light  of  skin  as  the  Mohawks,  who  are  often  nearly  white, 
even  when  pure  breed. 

He  stood  unarmed,  except  for  the  knife  and  war-axe  swinging 
from  crimson-beaded  sheaths  at  his  cincture.  Still,  I  did  not 
rise  or  show  myself,  and  my  rifle  lay  level  with  his  belly. 

I  said,   in  as  good   Oneida  as  I   could  muster: 

"Young  Oneida  warrior,  I  have  listened  to  what  you  have  had 
to  say.  I  have  heard  you  patiently,  oh  Tahioni,  my  brother  of 
the  great  Oneida  nation  who  wears  an  Onondaga  name!"  For 
Tahioni  means  The  Wolf  in  Onondaga  dialect. 

There  was  a  silence,  broken  by  Nick's  low  voice  from  some- 
where behind  me:  "Shall  I  shoot  the  Onondaga  dog?" 

"Will  you  mind  your  business?"  I  retorted  sharply. 

The  Oneida  had  smiled  slightly  at  my  sarcasm  concerning  his 
name;  his  eyes  rested  on  the  rock  behind  which  I  lay  snug,  stock 
against  cheek. 

"I  am  Tahioni,"  he  repeated  simply.  "My  mother's  clan  is 
the  Onondaga  Tortoise." 

Which  explained  his  clan  and  name,  of  course,  if  his  father 
was  Oneida. 

"I  continue  to  listen,"  said  I  warily. 

"Tahioni  has  spoken,"  he  said;  and  calmly  seated  himself. 

For  a  moment  I  remained  silent,  yet  still  dared  not  show  my- 
self. 

t7Is  my  brother  alone?"  I  asked  at  last. 

"Two  Oneida  youths  and  my  adopted  sister  are  with  me, 
brother." 

"Where  are  they?" 

"They  are  here." 

"Let  them  show  themselves,"  said  I,  instantly  bitten  by  sus- 
picion. 

Two  young  men  and  a  girl  came  calmly  from  the  thicket  and 
stood  on  the  bank.  All  carried  blanket  and  rifle.  At  a  sign  from 
Tahioni,  all  three  laid  their  blankets  at  their  feet  and  placed 
their  rifles  across  them. 

One,  a  stocky,  powerful  youth,  spoke  first: 

"I  am  Kwiyeh.*     My  clan  is  the  Oneida  Tortoise." 

The  other  young  fellow  said:  "Brother,  I  am  Hanatoh,f  of 
the  Oneida  Tortoise." 

Then  they  calmly  seated  themselves. 

*  The  Screech-Owl. 
tThe  Water-Snake. 


118  THE  LITTLE  BED  FOOT 

I  rose  from  my  cover,  my  rifle  in  the  hollow  of  my  left  arm. 
Nick  came  from  his  bed  of  juniper  and  stood  looking  very  hard 
at  the  Oneidas 'across  the  stream. 

Save  for  the  girl,  all  were  naked  except  for  breech-clout,  spor- 
ran, and  ankle  moccasins;  all  were  oiled  and  in  their  paint,  and 
their  heads  shaven,  leaving  only  the  lock.  There  could  be  no 
doubt  that  this  was  a  war  party.  No  doubt,  also,  that  they  could 
have  slain  me  very  easily  where  I  sat,  had  they  wished  to  do  so. 

There  was,  just  below  us,  a  string  of  rocks  crossing  the  stream. 
I  sprang  from  one  to  another  and  came  out  on  their  bank  of 
the  creek;  and  Nick  followed,  leaping  the  boulders  like  a  lithe 
tree-cat. 

The  Oneidas,  who  had  been  seated,  rose  as  I  came  up  to  them. 
I  gave  my  hand  to  each  of  them  in  turn,  until  I  faced  the  girl. 
And  then  I  hesitated. 

For  never  anywhere,  among  any  nation  of  the  Iroquois  Con- 
federacy, had  I  seen  any  woman  so  costumed,  painted,  and  ac- 
coutred. 

For  this  girl  looked  more  like  a  warrior  than  a  woman;  and, 
save  for  her  slim  and  hard  young  body's  shape,  and  her  full  hair, 
must  have  passed  for  an  adolescent  wearing  his  first  hatchet  and 
his  first  touch  of  war  paint. 

She,  also,  was  naked  to  the  waist,  her  breasts  scarce  formed. 
Two  braids  of  hair  lay  on  her  shoulders,  and  her  skin  was  palely 
bronzed  and  smooth  in  its  oil,  as  amber  without  a  flaw. 

But  she  wore  leggins  of  doe-skin,  deeply  fringed  with  pale  green 
and  cinctured  in  at  her  waist,  where  war-axe  and  knife  hung  on 
her  left  thigh,  and  powder  horn  and  bullet  pouch  on  her  right. 
And  over  these  she  wore  knee  moccasins  of  green  snake-skin,  the> 
feet  of  which  were  deer-hide  sewn  thick  with  scarlet,  purple, 
and  greenish  wampum,  which  glistened  like  a  humming-bird's 
throat. 

I  said,  wondering:  "Who  is  this  girl  in  a  young  warrior's 
dress,  who  wears  a  disk  of  blue  war-paint  on  her  forehead?" 

But  Nick  pulled  my  arm  and  said  in  my  ear: 

"Have  you  heard  of  the  little  maid  of  Askalege?  Yonder  she 
stands,  thank  God!  For  the  Oneida  follow  their  prophetess; 
and  the  Oneida  are  with  us  in  this  war  if  she  becomes  our 
friend!" 

I  had  heard  of  the  little  Athabasca  girl,  found  in  the  forest  by 
Skenandoa  and  Spencer,  and  how  she  grew  up  like  a  boy  at 
Askalege,  with  the  brave  half-breed  interpreter,  Thomas  Spencer; 
and  how  it  was  her  delight  to  roam  the  forests  and  talk — they 


THE  DROWNED  LANDS  119 

said — to  trees  and  beasts  by  moonlight;  how  she  knew  the  lan- 
guage of  all  things  living,  and  could  hear  the  tiny  voices  of  the 
growing  grass!  Legends  and  fairy  tales,  but  by  many  believed. 

Yet,  Sir  William  had  seen  the  child  at  Askalege  dancing  in 
the  stream  of  sparks  that  poured  from  Spencer's  smithy  when 
the  Oneida  blacksmith  pumped  his  home-made  bellows  or  struck 
fire-flakes  from  the  cherry-red  iron. 

I  said:  "Are  you  sure,  Nick?  For  never  have  I  seen  an  In- 
dian maid  play  boy  in  earnest." 

"She  is  the  little  witch-maid  of  Askalege — their  prophetess," 
he  repeated.  "I  saw  her  once  at  Oneida  Lake,  dancing  on  the 
shore  amid  a  whirl  of  yellow  butterflies  at  their  strawberry  feast. 
God  send  she  favours  our  party,  for  the  Oneidas  will  follow 
her." 

I  turned  to  the  girl,  who  was  standing  quietly  beside  a  young 
silver  birch-tree. 

'Who  are  you,  my  sister,  who  wear  a  little  blue  moon  on  your 
brow,  and  the  dress  and  weapons  of  an  adolescent?" 

"Brother,"  she  said  in  her  soft  Oneida  tongue,  "I  am  an 
Athabascan  of  the  Heron  Clan,  adopted  into  the  Oneida  nation. 
My  name  is  Thiohero,*  and  my  privilege  is  Oyaneh.f  Brother, 
I  come  as  a  friend  io  liberty,  and  to  help  you  fight  your  great 
war  against  your  King. 

"Brother,  I  have  spoken,"   she  concluded,  with  lowered  eyes. 

Surprised  and  charmed  by  this  young  girl's  modesty  and  quiet 
speech,  but  not  knowing  how  to  act,  I  thanked  her  as  I  had  the 
young  men,  and  offered  her  my  hand. 

She  took  it,  lifted  her  deep,  wide  eyes  unabashed,  looked  me 
calmly  and  intelligently  in  the  face,  and  said  in  English: 

"My  adopted  father  is  Thomas  Spencer,  the  friend  to  liberty, 
and  Oneida  interpreter  to  your  General  Schuyler.  My  adopted 
uncle  is  the  great  war-chief  Skenandoa,  also  your  ally.  The 
Oneida  are  my  people.  And  are  now  become  your  brothers  in 
this  new  war." 

'TTour  words  make  our  hearts  light,  my  sister." 

"Your  words  brighten  our  sky,  my  elder  brother." 

Our  clasped  hands  fell  apart.    I  turned  to  Tahioni: 

"Brother,  why  are  you  in  battle-paint?"  I  demanded. 

At  that  the  eyes  of  the  Oneida  youths  began  to  sparkle  and 

*  The  River-reed. 

t  The  noble  or  honourable  one.  The  feminine  of  Royaneh,  or  Sachem,  in 
the  Algonquin. 


120  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

burn;  and  Tahioni  straightened  up  and  struck  the  knife-hilt  at 
his  belt  with  a  quick,  fierce  gesture. 

"Give  me  a  name  that  I  may  know  my  brother,"  he  said 
bluntly.  "Even  a  tree  has  a  name."  And  I  flushed  at  this  mer- 
ited rebuke. 

"My  name  is  John  Drogue,  and  I  am  lieutenant  of  our  new 
State  Rangers,"  said  I.  "And  this  is  my  comrade,  Nicholas 
Stoner,  of  Fonda's  Bush,  and  first  sergeant  in  my  little  com- 
pany." 

"Brother  John,"  said  he,  "then  listen  to  this  news  we  Oneidas 
bring  from,  the  North:  a  Canada  war-party  is  now  on  the  Iro- 
quois  trail,  looking  for  Sir  John  to  guide  them  to  the  Canadas!" 

Taken  aback,  I  stared  at  the  young  warrior  for  a  moment,  then, 
recovering  composure,  I  translated  for  Nick  what  he  had  just 
told  me. 

Then  I  turned  again  to  Tahioni,  the  Wolf: 

"Where  is  this  same  war-party?"  I  demanded,  still  scarce  con- 
vinced. 

"At  West  River,  near  the  Big  Eddy,"  said  he.  "They  have 
taken  scalps" 

"Why — why,  then,  it  is  war!"  I  exclaimed  excitedly.  "And 
what  people  are  these  who  have  taken  scalps  in  the  North?  Are 
they  Caniengas?" 

"Mohawks!"  He  fairly  spat  out  the  insulting  term,  which  no 
friendly  Iroquois  would  dream  of  using  to  a  Canienga;  and  the 
contemptuous  word  seemed  to  inflame  the  other  Oneidas,  for 
they  all  picked  up  their  rifles  and  crowded  around  me,  watching 
my  face  with  gleaming  eyes. 

"How  many?"  I  asked,  still  a  little  stunned  by  this  reality, 
though  I  had  long  foreseen  the  probability. 

"Thirty,"  said  the  girl  Thiohero,  turning  from  Nick,  to  whom 
she  had  been  translating  what  was  being  said  in  the  Oneida 
tongue. 

Now,  in  a  twinkling,  I  found  myself  faced  with  an  instant 
crisis,  and  must  act  as  instantly. 

I  had  two  good  men  on  Maxon,  the  French  trapper,  Johnny 
Silver  and  Benjamin  De  Luysnes;  Nick  and  I  counted  two  more. 
With  four  Oneida,  and  perhaps  Joe  de  Golyer  and  Godfrey  Shew 
— if  we  could  pick  them  up  on  the  Vlaie — we  would  be  ten  stout 
men  to  stop  this  Mohawk  war-party  until  the  garrisons  at  Sum- 
mer House  Point  and  Fish  House  could  drive  the  impudent  ma- 
rauders North  again. 

Turning  to  Thiohero,  I  said  as  much  in  English.     She  nodded 


THE  DROWNED  LANDS  121 

and  spoke  to  the  others  in  Oneida;  and  I  saw  their  eager  and 
brilliant  eyes  begin  to  glitter. 

Now,  I  carried  always  with  me  in  the  bosom  of  my  buckskin 
shirt  a  carnet,  or  tablet  of  good  paper,  and  a  pencil  given  me 
years  ago  by  Sir  William. 

And  now  I  seated  myself  on  a  rock  and  took  my  instruments 
and  wrote: 

<rHans  Creek,  near 
Maxon  Brook, 
June  13th,  1776. 
"To  the  Officer  commd'ns  y® 
Garrison  at  ye  Summer  House 
on  Ylaie, 

"Sir: 

"I  am  to  acquaint  you  that  this  day,  about  two  o'clock,  after- 
noon, arrived  in  my  camp  four  Oneidas  who  give  an  account  that 
a  Mohawk  War  Party  is  now  at  ye  Big  Eddy  on  West  Eiver, 
headed  south. 

"By  the  same  intelligence  I  am  to  understand  that  this  War 
Party  has  taken  scalps. 

"Sir,  anybody  familiar  with  the  laws  and  customs  of  the  Iro- 
quois  Confederacy  understands  what  this  means. 

"Murder,  or  mere  slaying,  when  not  accompanied  by  such 
mutilation,  need  not  constitute  an  act  of  war  involving  nation 
and  Confederacy  in  formal  declaration. 

"But  the  taking  of  a  single  scalp  means  only  one  thing:  that 
the  nation  whose  warrior  scalps  an  enemy  approves  the  trophy 
and  declares  itself  at  war  with  the  nation  of  the  victim. 

"I  am  aware,  sir,  that  General  Schuyler  and  Mr.  Kirkland 
and  others  are  striving  mightily  in  Albany  to  placate  the  Iro- 
quois,  and  that  they  still  entertain  such  hope,  although  the  upper 
Mohawks  are  gone  off  with  Brant,  and  Guy  Johnson  holds  in  his 
grasp  the  fighting  men  of  the  Confederacy,  save  only  the  Oneida, 
and  also  in  spite  of  news,  known  to  be  certain,  that  Mohawk  In- 
dians were  in  battle-paint  at  St.  John's. 

"Now,  therefore,  conscious  of  my  responsibility,  and  asking 
God's  guidance  in  this  supreme  moment,  lest  I  commit  error  or 
permit  hot  blood  to  confuse  my  clearer  mind,  I  propose  to  travel 
instantly  to  the  West  River  with  my  scout  of  four  Rangers,  and 
four  Oneidas,  and  ask  of  this  Mohawk  War  Party  an  explanation 
in  the  name  of  the  Continental  Congress  and  His  Excellency,  our 
er  in  Chief. 


122  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

"Sir,  I  doubt  not  that  you  will  order  your  two  garrisons  to 
prepare  for  immediate  defense,  and  also  to  support  my  scout  on 
the  Sacandaga;  and  to  send  an  express  to  Johnstown  as  soon 
as  may  be,  to  acquaint  Colonel  Dayton  of  what  measures  I  pro- 
pose to  take  to  carry  out  my  orders  which  are  to  stop  the  Sacanr 
daga  trail. 

"This,  sir,  it  is  my  present  endeavour  to  do. 

"I  am,  sir,  with  all  respect, 

"Yr  most  obedient 

"John  Drogue,  Lieut  Hangers." 

When  I  finished,  I  discovered  that  Nick  and  the  Oneidas  had 
fastened  on  their  blanket-packs  and  were  gathered  a  little  dis- 
tance away  in  animated  conversation,  the  little  maid  of  Askalege 
translating. 

Nick  had  fetched  my  pack;  I  strapped  it,  picked  up  my  rifle, 
and  walked  swiftly  into  the  woods;  and  without  any  word  from 
me  they  fell  into  file  at  my  heels,  headed  west  for  Fish  House  and 
the  fateful  river. 

My  scout  of  six  moved  very  swiftly  and  without  noise;  and  it 
was  not  an  hour  before  I  caught  sight  of  a  Continental  soldier 
on  bullock  guard,  and  saw  cattle  among  low  willows. 

The  soldier  was  scared  and  bawled  lustily  for  his  mates;  but 
among  them  was  one  of  the  Sammons,  Vb.0  knew  me;  and  they 
let  us  through  with  little  delay. 

Fish  House  was  full  o'  soldiers  a-sunning  in  every  window, 
and  under  them,  on  the  grass;  and  here  headquarters  guards 
stopped  us  until  the  captain  in  command  could  be  found,  whilst 
the  gaping  Continentals  crowded  around  us  for  news,  and  stared 
at  our  Oneidas,  whose  quiet  dignity  and  war  paint  astonished 
our  men,  I  think.  To  the  west  and  south,  and  along  the  river, 
I  saw  many  soldiers  in  their  shirts,  a-digging  to  make  an  earth- 
work; and  presently  from  this  redoubt  came  a  Continental  Cap- 
tain, out  o'  breath,  who  listened  anxiously  to  what  news  I  had 
gathered,  and  who  took  my  letter  and  promised  to  send  it  b1*  an 
express  to  Summer  House  Point. 

A  quartermaster's  sergeant  asked  very  civilly  if  I  desired  to 
draw  rations  for  my  scout;  and  I  drew  parched  corn,  salt,  dried 
fish,  jerked  venison,  and  pork  from  the  brine,  for  ten  men;  and 
Nick'  and  I  and  my  Oneidas  did  divide  between  us  the  burthen. 

"The  dogs!"  he  kept  repeating  in  a  confused  way — "the  dirty 
dogs,  to  take  our  scalps!  And  I  pray  God  your  painted  Oneidas 
yonder  may  do  the  like  for  them!" 


THE  DROWNED  LANDS  123 

I  saw  a  horse  saddled  and  a  soldier  mount  and  gallop  off  with 
my  letter.  That  was  sufficient  for  me;  I  gave  the  Continental 
Captain  the  officers'  salute,  and  looked  around  at  my  men,  who 
had  made  a  green  fire  for  me  on  the  grass  in  front  of  the  house. 

It  was  smoking  thickly,  now,  so  I  took  a  soldier's  watch-coat 
by  the  skirts,  glanced  up  at  Maxon  Ridge,  then,  flinging  wide 
the  garment  above  the  fire,  kept  it  a-flutter  there  and  moved  it 
up  and  down  till  the  jetted  smoke  mounted  upward  in  great 
clots,  three  together,  then  one,  then  three,  then  one. 

Presently,  high  on  Maxon,  I  saw  smoke,  and  knew  that  Johnny 
Silver  understood.  So  I  flung  the  watch-coat  to  the  soldier, 
turned,  and  walked  swiftly  along  the  river  bank,  where  sheep 
grazed,  then  entered  the  forest  with  Nick  at  my  heels  and  the 
four  Oneidas  a-padding  in  hia  tracks. 


CHAPTEK  XIV 

THE  LITTLE  RED   FOOT 

BY  dusk  we  were  ten  rifles;  for  an  hour  after  we  left  Fish 
House  Johnny  Silver  and  Luysnes  joined  us  on  the  Sacan- 
daga  trail;  and,  just  as  the  sun  set  behind  the  Mayfield  moun- 
tains, conies  rushing  down  stream  a  canoe  with  Godfrey  Shew'a 
bow-paddle  flashing  red  in  the  last  rays  and  Joe  de  Golyer  steer- 
ing amid  the  rattling  rapids,  nigh  buried  in  a  mountain  of  sil- 
very spray. 

And  here,  by  the  river,  we  ate,  but  lighted  no  fire,  though  it 
seemed  safe  to  do  so. 

I  sent  Godfrey  Shew  and  the  Water-snake  far  up  the  Iroquois 
trail  to  watch  it.  The  others  gathered  in  a  friendly  circle  to 
munch  their  corn  and  jerked  meat,  and  the  Frenchmen  were 
merry,  laughing  and  jesting  and  casting  sly,  amorous  eyes  toward 
Thiohero,  who  laughed,  too,  in  friendly  fashion  and  was  at  her 
ease  and  plainly  not  displeased  with  gallantry. 

It  had  proved  a  swift  comradery  between  us  and  our  young 
Oneidas,  and  I  marvelled  at  the  rapid  accomplishment  of  such 
friendly  accord  in  so  brief  a  time,  yet  understood  it  came  through 
the  perfect  faith  of  these  Oneidas  in  their  young  Athabasca 
witch;  and  that  what  their  prophetess  found  good  they  did 
not  even  think  of  questioning. 

Her  voice  was  soft,  her  smile  bewitching;  she  ate  with  the 
healthy  appetite  of  an  animal,  yet  was  polite  to  those  who  offered 
meat.  And  her  sweet  "neah-wennah"  *  never  failed  any  courtesy 
offered  by  these  rough  Forest  Runners,  who  now,  for  the  first 
time  in  their  reckless  lives,  I  think,  were  afforded  a  glimpse  of 
the  forest  Indian  as  he  really  is  when  at  his  ease  and  among 
friends. 

For  it  is  not  true  that  the  Iroquois  live  perpetually  in  their 
paint;  that  they  are  cruel  by  nature,  brutal,  stern,  and  masters 
of  silence;  or  that  they  stalk  gloomily  through  life  with  hatchet 
ever  loosened  and  no  pursuit  except  war  in  their  ferocious  minds. 

White  men  who  have  mistreated  them  see  them  so;  but  the 

•  Thank  you. 

124 


THE  LITTLE  EED  FOOT  125 

real  Iroquis,  except  the  Senecas,  who  are  different,  are  naturally 
a  kindly,  merry,  and  trustful  people  among  themselves,  not  quar- 
relsome, not  fierce,  but  like  children,  loving  laughter  and  all 
things  gay  and  bright  and  mischievous. 

Their  women,  though  sometimes  broad  in  speech  and  jests, 
are  more  truly  chaste  in  conduct  than  the  women  of  any  nation 
I  ever  heard  of,  except  the  Irish. 

They  have  their  fixed  and  honourable  places  in  clan,  nation, 
and  Federal  affairs. 

Rank  follows  the  female  line;  the  son  of  a  chief  does  not  suc- 
ceed to  the  antlers,  but  any  of  his  mother's  relatives  may.  And 
in  the  Great  Eite  of  the  Iroquois,  which  is  as  sacred  to  them 
as  is  our  religion  to  us,  and  couched  in  poetry  as  beautiful  as 
ever  Homer  sang,  the  most  moving  part  of  the  ceremony  con- 
cerns the  Iroquois  women, — the  women  of  the  Six  Nations  of  the 
Long  House,  respected,  honoured,  and  beloved. 

We  ate  leisurely,  feeling  perfectly  secure  there  in  the  starlight 
of  the  soft  June  night. 

The  Iroquois  war-trail  ran  at  our  elbows,  trodden  a  foot  deep, 
hard  as  a  sheep  path,  and  from  eighteen  inches  to  two  feet  in 
width — a  clean,  firm,  unbroken  trail  through  a  primeval  wilder- 
ness, running  mile  after  mile,  mile  after  mile,  over  mountains, 
through  valleys,  by  lonely  lakes,  along  lost  rivers,  to  the  dis- 
tant Canadas  in  the  North. 

On  this  trail,  above  us,  two  of  my  men  lay  watching,  as  I 
have  said,  which  was  merely  a  customary  precaution,  for  we 
were  far  out  of  earshot  of  the  Big  Eddy,  and  even  of  our  own 
sentries. 

We  were  like  one  family  eating  together,  and  Silver  and 
Luysnes  jested  and  played  pranks  on  each  other,  and  de  Golyer 
and  Nick  entered  into  gayest  conversation  with  the  Oneidas 
through  their  interpreter,  the  River-reed. 

As  for  Nick,  I  saw  him  making  calf's  eyes  at  the  lithe  young 
sorceress,  which  I  perceived  displeased  her  not  at  all;  yet  she 
gaily  divided  herself  between  translating  for  the  others  and  keep- 
ing up  a  lively  repartee  with  Nick. 

The  Oneidas,  now,  had  begun  to  shine  up  their  war-hatchets, 
sitting  cross-legged  and  contentedly  rubbing  up  knife,  axe,  and 
rifle;  and  I  was  glad  to  see  them  so  at  home  and  so  confident  of 
our  friendship. 

Older  men  might  not  have  been  so  easily  won,  but  these  untried 
young  warriors  seemed  very  children,  and  possessing  the  lovable 


126  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

qualities  of  children,  being  alternately  grave  and  gay,  serious 
and  laughing,  frank  and  impatient,  yet  caressing  in  speech  and 
gesture. 

From  Kwiyeh,  the  Screech-owl,  I  had  an  account  of  how,  burn- 
ing for  glory,  these  four  youngsters  had  stolen  away  from  Oneida 
Lake,  and,  painting  themselves,  had  gone  North  of  their  own  ac- 
cord, to  win  fame  for  the  Oneida  nation,  which  for  the  greater 
part  had  espoused  our  cause. 

He  told  me  that  they  had  seen  Sir  John  pass,  floundering  madly 
northward  and  dragging  three  brass  cannon;  but  explained 
naively  that  four  Oneidas  considered  it  unsafe  to  give  battle  to 
two  hundred  white  men. 

For  a  week,  however,  it  appeared,  they  had  hung  on  Sir  John's 
flanks,  skulking  for  a  stray  scalp;  but  it  was  evident  that  the 
Baronet's  people  were  thoroughly  frightened,  and  the  heavy  flank 
guards  and  the  triple  line  of  sentries  by  night  made  any  hope 
of  a  stray  scalp  futile. 

Then,  it  appeared,  these  four  Oneidas  gave  up  the  quest  and 
struck  out  for  the  Iroquois  trail.  And  suddenly  came  upon 
nearly  two  score  Mohawks,  silently  passing  southward,  painted 
for  war,  oiled,  shaved,  and  stripped,  and  evidently  searching  for 
Sir  John,  to  aid  and  guide  him  in  his  flight  to  Canada. 

Which  proved  to  me  the  Baronet's  baseness,  because  his  flight 
was  plainly  a  premeditated  one,  and  the  Mohawks  could  not  have 
known  of  it  unless  Sir  John  had  been  in  constant  communica- 
tion with  Canada — a  thing  he  had  pledged  his  honour  not  to  do. 

Others  around  me,  now,  were  listening  to  the  burly  young 
Oneida's  account  of  their  first  war-path;  and  presently  their 
young  sorceress  took  up  the  tale  in  English  and  in  Oneida,  ex- 
plaining with  lively  gestures  to  both  red  men  and  white. 

"Not  one  of  the  Mohawks  saw  us,"  she  said  scornfully,  "and 
when  they  made  a  camp  and  had  sent  their  hunters  out  to  kill 
game,  we  came  so  near  that  we  could  see  their  warriors  curing  and 
hooping  the  scalps  they  had  taken  and  painting  on  every  scalp 
the  Little  Red  Foot* — even  on  the  scalps  of  two  little  boys." 

Nick  turned  pale,  but  said  nothing.  A  sickness  came  to  my 
stomach  and  I  spoke  with  difficulty. 

"What  were  these  scalps,  little  sister,  which  you  saw  the  Mo- 
hawks curing?" 

"White  people's.  Three  were  of  men, — one  very  thin  and 
gray;  two  were  the  glossy  hair  of  women;  and  two  the  scalps  of 
children " 

•  To  show  that  the  late  owner  of  the  scalp  had  died  fighting  bravely. 


THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT  127 

She  flung  back  her  blanket  with  a  peculiarly  graceful  gesture: 

"Be  honoured,  O  white  brothers,  that  these  Mohawk  dogs  were 
forced  to  paint  upon  every  scalp  the  Little  Red  Foot!" 

After  a  silence:  "Some  poor  settler's  family,"  muttered  Nick; 
and  fell  a-fiddling  with  his  hatchet. 

"All  died  fighting,"  I  added  in  a  dull  voice. 

Thiohero  snapped  her  fingers  and  her  dark  eyes  flamed. 

"What  are  the  Mohawks,  after  all!"  she  said  in  a  tense  voice. 
"Who  are  they,  to  paint  for  war  without  fire-right  given  them 
at  Onondaga?  What  do  they  amount  to,  these  Keepers  of  the 
Eastern  Gate,  since  Sir  William  died? 

"They  have  become  outlaws  and  there  is  no  honour  among  them ! 

"Their  clan-right  is  destroyed  and  neither  Wolf,  Bear,  nor 
Tortoise  know  them  any  longer.  Nor  does  any  ensign  of  my 
own  clan  of  the  Heron  know  these  mad  yellow  wolves  that  howl 
and  tear  the  Long  House  with  their  teeth  to  destroy  it!  Like 
carcajous,  they  defile  the  Iroquois  League  and  smother  its  fire 
in  their  filth!  Dig  up  the  ashes  of  Onondaga  for  any  living 
ember,  O  you  Oneidas!  You  shall  find  not  one  live  spark!  And 
this  is  what  the  Canienga  have  done  to  the  Great  Confederacy!" 

Tahioni  said,  looking  straight  ahead  of  him :  "The  Great 
League  of  the  Iroquois  is  broken.  Skenandoa  has  said  it,  and 
he  has  painted  his  face  scarlet!  The  Long  House  crumbles 
slowly  to  its  fall. 

"Those  who  should  have  guarded  the  Eastern  Gate  have  broken 
it  down.  Death  to  the  Canienga!" 

Kwiyeh  lifted  his  right  hand  high  in  the  starlight: 

"Death  to  the  Canienga!  They  have  defiled  Thendara.  Spen- 
cer has  said  it.  They  have  spat  upon  the  Fire  at  the  Wood's 
Edge.  They  have  hewn  down  the  Great  Tree.  They  have  uncov- 
ered the  war-axe  which  lay  deep  buried  under  the  roots. 

"Death  to  the  Canienga!" 

I  turned  to  Thiohero:  "O  River-reed,  my  little  sister! 
Oyaneh!  Is  it  true  that  your  great  chief,  Skenandoa,  has  put 
on  red  paint?" 

She  said  calmly:  "It  is  true,  my  brother.  Skenandoa  has 
painted  himself  in  red.  And  when  your  General  Herkimer  rides 
into  battle,  on  his  right  hand  rides  Skenandoa;  and  on  his  left 
hand  rides  Thomas  Spencer,  the  Oneida  interpreter !"  * 

Tahioni  said  solemnly:  "And  before  them  rides  the  Holder  of 
Heaven.  We  Oneidas  can  not  doubt  it.  Is  it  true,  my  sister?" 

The  girl  answered :     "The  Holder  of  Heaven  has  flung  a  red 

*  This  was  a  true  prophecy  for  it  happened  later  at  Oriskany. 


128  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

wampum  belt  between  Oneida  and  Canienga!  Five  more  red 
belts  remain  in  his  hand.  They  are  so  brightly  red  that  even 
the  Senecas  can  see  the  colour  of  these  belts  from  the  Western 
Gate  of  the  Long  House." 

There  was  a  silence;  then  I  chose  De  Luysnes  and  Kwiyeh  to 
relieve  our  sentinels,  and  went  north  with  them  along  the  star- 
lit trail. 

When  I  returned  with  Hanoteh  and  Godfrey  Shew,  the  Oneidas 
were  still  sitting  up  in  their  blankets,  and  the  Frenchmen  lay 
on  theirs,  listening  to  Nick,  who  had  pulled  his  fife  from  his 
hunting  shirt  and  was  trilling  the  air  of  the  Little  Red  Foot 
while  Joe  de  Golyer  sang  the  words  of  the  endless  and  dreary 
ballad — old-time  verses,  concerning  bloody  deeds  of  the  Shawa- 
nese,  Western  Lenape,  and  French  in  '56,  when  blood  ran  from 
every  creek  and  man,  woman  and  child  went  down  to  death 
fighting. 

I  hated  the  words,  but  the  song  had  ever  haunted  me  with  its 
quaint  and  sad  refrain: 

"Lord  Loudon  he  weareth  a  fine  red  coat, 
And  red  is  his  ladye's  foot-man telle; 

Red  flyeth  ye  flagge  from  his  pleasure-boat, 
And  red  is  the  wine  he  loves  so  well: 

But,  oh!  for  the  dead  at  Minden  Town, — 
Naked  and  bloody  and  black  with  soot, 

Where  the  Lenni-Lenape  and  the  French  came  do\vn 
To  paint  them  all  with  the  Little  Red  Foot!" 

'Tor  God's  sake,  quit  thy  piping,  Nick,"  said  I,  "and  let  us 
sleep  while  we  may,  for  we  move  again  at  dawn." 

At  which  Nick  obediently  tucked  away  his  fife,  and  de  Golyer, 
who  had  a  thin  voice  like  a  tree-cat,  held  his  songful  tongue; 
and  presently  we  all  lay  flat  and  rolled  us  in  our  blankets. 

The  night  was  still,  save  for  a  love-sick  panther  somewhere 
on  the  mountain,  a-caterwauling  under  the  June  stars.  But  the 
distant  and  melancholy  love-song  and  the  golden  melody  of  the 
stream  pouring  through  its  bowlders  blended  not  unpleasantly 
in  my  ears,  and  presently  conspired  to  lull  me  into  slumber. 

The  mountain  peaks  were  red  when  I  awoke  and  spoke  aloud  to 
rouse  my  people.  One  by  one  they  sat  up,  owlish  with  sleep,  yet 
soon  clearing  their  eyes  and  minds  with  remembering  the  busi- 
ness that  lay  before  us. 


THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT  129 

I  sent  Joe  de  Golyer  and  Tahioni  to  relieve  our  sentinels, 
Luysnes  and  the  Screech-owl. 

When  these  came  in  with  report  that  all  was  still  as  death 
on  the  Iroquois  trail,  we  ate  hreakfast  and  drank  at  the  river, 
where  some  among  us  also  washed  our  bodies,— among  others  the 
River-reed,  who  stripped  unabashed,  innocent  of  any  shame,  and 
cleansed  herself  knee-deep  in  a  crystal  green  pool  under  the  Indian 
willows. 

When  she  came  back,  the  disk  of  blue  paint  was  gone  from 
her  brow,  and  I  saw  her  a-fishing  in  her  beaded  wallet  and  pres- 
ently bring  forth  blue  and  red  paint  and  a  trader's  mirror  about 
two  inches  in  diameter. 

Then  the  little  maid  of  Askalege  sat  down  cross-legged  and 
began  to  paint  herself  for  battle. 

At  the  root  of  her  hair,  where  it  made  a  point  above  her  fore- 
head, she  painted  a  little  crescent  moon  in  blue.  And  touched 
no  more  her  face;  but  on  her  belly  she  made  a  blue  picture  of 
a  heron — her  clan  being  the  Heron,  which  is  an  ensign  unknown 
among  Iroquois. 

Now  she  took  red  paint,  and  upon  her  chest  she  made  a  tiny 
human  foot. 

I  was  surprised,  for  neither  for  war  nor  for  any  ceremony 
I  ever  heard  of  had  I  seen  that  dread  symbol  on  any  Indian. 

The  Oneidas,  also,  were  looking  at  her  in  curiosity  and  aston- 
ishment, pausing  in  their  own  painting  to  discover  what  she  was 
about. 

Then,  as  it  struck  me,  so,  apparently,  it  came  to  them  at  the 
same  instant  what  their  sorceress  meant, — what  pledge  to  friend 
and  foe  alike  this  tiny  red  foot  embodied,  shining  above  her 
breast.  And  the  two  young  warriors  who  had  painted  the  tor- 
toise in  blue  upon  their  bellies,  now  made  eacJ«-  a  little  red  foot 
upon  their  chests. 

"By  gar!"  exclaimed  Silver,  "ees  it  onlee  ze  gens-du-bois  who 
shall  made  a  boast  to  die  fighting?  Nom  de  dieu,  non!"  And 
he  unrolled  his  blanket  and  pulled  out  a  packet  of  red  cloth  and 
thread  and  needle — which  is  like  a  Frenchman,  who  lacks  for 
nothing,  even  in  the  wilderness. 

He  made  a  pattern  very  deftly  out  of  his  cloth,  using  the  keen 
point  of  his  hunting  knife;  and,  as  we  all,  now,  wished  to  sew 
a  little  red  foot  upon  the  breasts  of  our  buckskin  shirts,  and  as 
he  had  cloth  enough  for  all,  and  for  Joe  de  Golyer,  too,  when 
we  should  come  up  with  him,  I  and  my  men  were  presently 


130 


THE  LITTLE  BED  FOOT 


marked  with  the  dread  device,  which  was  our  pledge  and  out 
defiance. 

The  sun  had  painted  scarlet  the  lower  Adirondack  peaks  when 
we  started  north  on  the  Sacandaga  trail. 

When  we  came  up  with  our  sentinels,  I  gave  Joe  time  to  sew 
on  his  symbol,  and  the  Oneida  time  to  paint  it  upon  his  person. 
Then  we  examined  flint  and  priming,  tightened  girth  and  cinc- 
ture, tested  knife,  hatchet,  and  the  stoppers  of  our  powder  horns; 
and  I  went  from  one  to  another  to  inspect  all,  and  to  make  my 
dispositions  for  the  march  to  the  Big  Eddy  on  West  River. 

We  marched  in  the  following  fashion :  Tahioni  and  Nick  as 
left  flankers,  two  hundred  yards  in  advance  of  us,  and  in  sight 
of  the  trail.  On  the  right  flank,  the  Water-snake  and  Johnny 
Silver  at  the  same  intervals. 

Then,  on  the  trail  itself,  I  leading,  Luysnes  next,  then  the 
River-reed.  Then  a  hundred  yards  interval,  and  Joe  de  Golyer 
on  the  left  rear,  Kwiyeh  on  the  right  rear,  and  Godfrey  on  the 
trail 


WEST—  I—  *** 

MM 
ahioni               Nick  Stoner 

John  Silver 

t 

The  Water  Snake 
—  --o 

t 

1 

0 

1 

Myself 

200  yis. 

Page  from                                         ^ 
my  cornet.                                            „ 
*                              o 

0 
0 

B.  De  Luysnes 
1 
Thiohero              * 
I 

I 

!§ 

Joe  De  Golyer 

0 

Godfrey  Shew 
Kwiyeh 

ISOjis. 

ISOyk. 

THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT  131 

"And,"  I  said,  "if  you  catch  a  roving  Tree-eater,  slay  him 
not,  but  bring  him  to  me,  for  if  there  be  any  of  these  wild  rovers, 
the  Montagiiais,  in  our  vicinity,  they  should  know  something  of 
what  is  now  happening  in  the  Canadas,  and  they  shall  tell  us 
what  they  know,  or  I'm  a  Tory!  Forward!  Our  alarm  signal 
is  the  long  call-note  of  the  Canada  sparrow!" 


CHAPTEK  XV 

WEST  RIVER 

Water-snake    caught    an    Adirondack    just    before    ten 
X     o'clock,  and  was  holding  him  on  the  trail  as  I  came  up,  fol- 
lowed by  Luysnes  and  Thiohero. 

The  Indian  was  a  poor,  starved-looking  creature  in  ragged 
buckskins  and  long  hair,  from  which  a  few  wild-turkey  quills 
fell  to  his  scrawny  neck. 

He  wore  no  paint,  had  been  armed  with  a  trade-rifle,  the 
hammer  of  which  was  badly  loosened  and  mended  with  copper 
wire,  and  otherwise  he  carried  arrows  in  a  quiver  and  a  greasy 
bow. 

Like  a  fierce,  lean  forest  thing,  made  abject  by  fear,  the 
Adirondack's  sloe-black  eyes  now  flickered  at  me,  now  avoided 
my  gaze.  I  looked  down  at  the  rags  which  served  him  for  a 
blanket,  and  on  which  lay  his  wretched  arms,  including  knife 
and  hatchet. 

<(Let  him  loose,"  said  I  to  the  Water-snake;  "here  is  no  Mengwe 
but  a  poor  brother,  who  sees  us  armed  and  in  our  paint  and  is 
afraid." 

And  I  went  to  the  man  and  offered  my  hand.  Which  he 
touched  as  though  I  were-  a  rattlesnake. 

"Brother,"  said  I,  "we  white  men  and  Oneidas  have  no  quar- 
rel with  any  Saguenay  that  I  know  about.  Our  quarrel  is  with 
the  Canienga,  and  that  is  the  reason  we  wear  paint  on  this  trail. 
And  we  have  stopped  our  Saguenay  brother  in  the  forest  on  his 
lawful  journey,  to  say  to  him,  and  to  all  Saguenays,  that  we 
mean  them  no  harm." 

There  was  an  absolute  silence;  Luysnes  and  Thiohero  drew 
closer  around  the  Tree-eater;  the  Water-snake  gazed  at  his  cap- 
tive in  slight  disgust,  yet,  I  noticed,  held  his  rifle  in  a  position 
for  instant  use. 

The  Saguenay's  slitted  eyes  travelled  from  one  to  another, 
then  he  looked  at  me. 

"Brother,"  I  said,  "how  many  Maquas  are  there  camped  near 
the  Big  Eddy?" 

132 


WEST  RIVER  133 

His  low,  thick  voice  answered  in  a  dialect  or  language  I  did 
not  comprehend. 

"Can  you  speak  Iroquois?"  I  demanded. 

He  muttered  something  in  his  jargon.  Thiohero  touched  my 
arm: 

"The  Saguenay  says  he  understands  the  Iroquois  tongue,  but 
can  speak  it  only  with  difficulty.  He  says  that  he  is  a  hunter  and 
not  a  warrior." 

"Ask  him  to  answer  me  concerning  the  Maqua." 

A  burst  of  volubility  spurted  from  the  prisoner. 

Again  the  girl  translated  the  guttural  reply: 

"He  says  he  saw  painted  Mohawks  fishing  in  the  Big  Eddy,  and 
others  watching  the  trail.  He  does  not  know  how  many,  because 
he  can  not  count  above  five  numbers.  He  says  the  Mohawks 
stoned  him  and  mocked  him,  calling  him  Tree-eater  and  Wood- 
pecker; and  they  drove  him  away  from  the  Big  Eddy,  saying 
that  no  Saguenay  was  at  liberty  to  fish  in  Canienga  territory 
until  permitted  by  the  Canienga;  and  that  unless  he  started  back 
to  Canada,  where  he  belonged,  the  Iroquois  women  would  catch 
him  and  beat  him  with  nettles." 

As  Thiohero  uttered  the  dread  name,  Canienga,  I  could  see  our 
captive  shrink  with  the  deep  fear  that  the  name  inspired.  And  I 
think  any  Iroquois  terrified  him,  for  it  seemed  as  though  he  dared 
not  sustain  the  half-contemptuous,  half-indifferent  glances  of  my 
Oneidas,  but  his  eyes  shifted  to  mine  in  dumb  appeal  for  refuge. 

'What  is  my  brother's  name?"  I  asked. 

"Yellow  Leaf,"  translated  the  girl. 

"His  clan?" 

"The  Hawk,"  she  saia,  shrugging  her  shoulders. 

"Nevertheless,"  said  I,  very  quietly,  "my  Saguenay  brother  is  a 
man,  and  not  an  animal  to  be  mocked  by  the  Maqua !" 

And  I  stooped  and  picked  up  his  blanket  and  weapons,  and 
gave  them  to  him. 

"The  Saguenay s  are  free  people,"  said  I.  "The  Yellow  Leaf  is 
free  as  is  his  clan  ensign,  the  Hawk.  Brother,  go  in  peace !" 

And  I  motioned  my  people  forward. 

Our  flankers,  who,  keeping  stations,  had  waited,  now  started 
on  again,  the  Water-snake  running  swiftly  to  his  post  on  the 
extreme  right  flank. 

After  ten  minutes'  silent  and  swift  advance,  Thiohero  came 
lightly  to  my  side  on  the  trail. 

"Brother,"  she  whispered,  "was  it  well  considered  to  let  loose 
that  Tree-eating  rover  in  our  rear  ?" 


134  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

'Would  the  Oneida  take  such  a  wretched  trophy  as  that  poor 
hunter's  tangled  scalp?" 

"Neah.  Yet,  I  ask  again,  was  it  wisdom  to  let  him  loose,  who, 
for  a  mouthful  of  parched  corn,  might  betray  us  to  the  Mengwe?" 

"Poor  devil,  he  means  no  harm  to  anybody." 

"Then  why  does  he  slcullc  after  us?" 

Startled,  I  turned  and  caught  a  glimpse  of  something  slinking 
on  the  ridge  between  our  flankers;  but  was  instantly  reassured 
because  no  living  thing  could  dog  us  without  discovery  from  the 
rear.  And  presently  I  did  see  the  Screech-owl  run  forward  and 
hurl  a  clod  of  moss  into  the  thicket;  and  the  Saguenay  broke 
cover  like  a  scared  dog,  running  perdue  so  that  he  came  close  to 
Hanatoh,  who  flung  a  stick  at  him. 

That  was  too  much  for  me;  and,  as  the  Tree-eater  bolted  past 
me,  I  seized  him. 

"Come,"  said  I,  dragging  him  along,  "what  the  devil  do  you 
want  of  us?  Did  I  not  bid  you  go  in  peace?" 

Thiohero  caught  him  by  the  other  arm,  and  he  panted  some 
jargon  at  her. 

"Koue!"  she  exclaimed,  and  her  long,  sweet  whistle  of  the 
Canada  sparrow  instantly  halted  us  in  our  tracks,  flankers,  rear- 
guard, and  all. 

Thiohero,  still  holding  the  Saguenay  by  his  lean,  muscular  arm, 
spoke  sharply  to  him  in  his  jargon;  then,  at  his  reply,  looked  up 
at  me  with  the  flaming  eyes  of  a  lynx. 

"Brother,"  said  she,  "this  Montagnais  hunter  has  given  an 
account  that  the  Maquas  have  prepared  an  ambuscade,  knowing 
we  are  on  the  Great  Trail." 

I  said,  coolly:  "What  reason  does  the  Saguenay  give  for  re- 
turning to  us  with  such  a  tale  ?" 

"He  says,"  she  replied,  "that  we  only,  of  all  Iroquois  or  white 
men  he  has  ever  encountered,  have  treated  him  like  a  man  and  not 
as  an  unclean  beast. 

"He  says  that  my  white  brother  has  told  him  he  is  a  man,  and 
that  if  this  is  true  he  will  act  as  real  men  act. 

"He  says  he  desires  to  be  painted  upon  the  breast  with  a  little 
red  foot,  and  wishes  to  go  into  battle  with  us.  And,"  she  added 
naively,  "to  an  Oneida  this  seems  very  strange  that  a  Saguenay 
can  be  a  real  man!" 

"Paint  him,"  said  I,  smiling  at  the  Saguenay. 

But  no  Oneida  would  touch  him.  So,  while  he  stripped  to  the 
clout  and  began  to  oil  himself  from  the  flask  of  gun-oil  I  offered, 
I  got  from  him,  through  Thiohero,  all  he  had  noticed  of  the 


WEST  EIVER  135 

ambuscade  prepared  for  us,  and  into  which  he  himself  had  run 
headlong  in  his  flight  from  the  stones  and  insults  of  the  Mohawks 
at  the  Big  Eddy. 

While  he  was  thus  oiling  himself,  Luysnes  shaved  his  head 
with  his  hunting  blade,  leaving  a  lock  to  be  braided.  Then, 
very  quickly,  I  took  blue  paint  from  Thiohero  and  made  on  the 
fellow's  chest  a  hawk.  And,  with  red  paint,  under  this  I  made 
a  little  red  foot,  then  painted  his  fierce,  thin  features  as  the  girl 
directed,  moving  a  dainty  finger  hither  and  thither  but  never 
touching  the  Saguenay. 

To  me  she  said  disdainfully,  in  English:  "My  brother  John, 
this  is  a  wild  wolf  you  take  hunting  with  you,  and  not  a  hound. 
The  Saguenay s  are  real  wolves  and  not  to  be  tamed  by  white 
men  or  Iroquois.  And  like  a  lone  wolf  he  will  run  away  in 
battle.  You  shall  see,  brother  John." 

"I  hope  not,  little  sister." 

i  "You  shall  see."  she  repeated,  her  pretty  lip  curling  as  Luysnes 
began  to  braid  the  man's  scalp-lock.  <rYou  think  him  a  warrior, 
now,  because  he  is  oiled  and  wears  war  paint  and  lock.  But  I 
tell  you  he  is  only  a  wild  Montagnais  hunter.  Warriors  are  not 
made  with  a  word." 

"Sometimes  men  are,"  said  I  pleasantly. 

The  girl  came  closer  to  me,  looked  up  into  my  face  with  un- 
feigned curiosity. 

"What  manner  of  white  man  are  you,  John?"  she  asked.  'Tor 
you  speak  like  a  preacher,  yet  you  wear  no  skirt  and  cross,  as 
do  the  priests  of  the  Praying  Indians." 

"Little  sister,"  said  I,  taking  both  her  hands,  "I  am  only  a 
young  man  going  into  battle  for  the  first  time;  and  I  have  yet 
to  fire  my  first  shot  in  anger.  If  my  white  and  red  brothers — 
and  if  you,  little  sister — do  full  duty  this  day,  then  we  shall  be 
happy,  living  or  dead.  For  only  those  who  do  their  best  can  look 
the  Holder  of  Heaven  in  the  face." 

She  gave  me  a  strange  glance;  our  hands  parted.  I  gave  the 
Canada-sparrow  call  in  the  minor  key — as  often  the  bird  whistles 
— and,  at  the  signal,  all  my  scouts  came  creeping  in. 

"We  cross  West  River  here,"  said  I,  "and  go  by  the  left  bank 
in  the  same  order  of  march,  crossing  the  shoulder  of  the  mountain 
by  the  Big  Eddy,  then  fording  the  river  once  more,  so  as  to  take 
their  ambuscade  from  the  north  and  in  the  rear." 

They  seemed  to  understand.  The  Montagnis,  in  his  new  paint, 
came  around  behind  me  like  some  savage  dog  that  trusts  only 
his  owner.  And  I  saw  my  Oneidas  eyeing  him  as  though  of  two 


136  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

minds  whether  to  ignore  him  or  sink  a  hatchet  into  his  narrow 
skull. 

"Who  first  sights  a  Mohawk,"  said  I,  "shall  not  fire  or  try  to 
take  a  scalp  to  satisfy  his  own  vanity  and  his  desire  for  glory. 
No.  He  shall  return  to  me  and  report  what  he  sees.  For  it  is 
my  business  to  order  the  conduct  of  this  battle.  .  .  .  March!" 

We  had  forded  West  River,  crept  over  the  mountain's  shoulder, 
recrossed  the  river  roaring  between  its  rounded  and  giant  bowl- 
ders, and  now  were  creeping  southward  toward  the  Big  Eddy. 

Already  I  saw  ahead  of  me  the  brook  that  dashes  into  that 
great  crystal-green  pool,  where,  in  happier  days,  I  have  angled 
for  those  huge  trout  that  always  lurk  there. 

And  now  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  pool  itself,  spreading  out  be- 
tween forested  shores.  But  the  place  was  still  as  death;  not  a 
living  thing  nor  any  sign  of  one  was  to  be  seen  there — not  a 
trace  of  a  fire,  nor  of  any  camp  filth,  nor  a  canoe,  nor  even  a 
broken  fern. 

Moment  after  moment>  I  studied  the  place,  shore  and  slope 
and  hollow. 

Tahioni,  fiat  on  his  belly  in  the  Great  Trail,  lay  listening  and 
looking  up  the  slope,  where  our  Saguenay  had  warned  us  Death 
lay  waiting. 

The  Water-snake  slowly  shook  his  head  and  cast  a  glance  of 
fierce  suspicion  at  the  Montagnais,  who  lay  beside  me,  grasping 
his  sorry  trade-rifle,  his  slitted  gaze  of  a  snake  fixed  on  the  forest 
depths  ahead. 

Suddenly,  Nick  caught  my  arm  in  a  nervous  grasp,  and  "My 
God!"  says  he,  "what  is  that  in  the  tree — in  the  great  hemlock 
yonder  ?" 

And  now  we  began  to  see  their  sharpshooters  as  we  crawled 
forward,  standing  upright  on  limbs  amid  the  foliage  of  great 
evergreens,  to  scan  the  trail  ahead  and  the  forest  aisles  below — 
these  Mohawk  panthers  that  would  slay  from  above. 

Under  them,  hidden  close  to  the  ground,  lay  their  comrades 
on  either  side  of  the  little  ravine,  through  which  the  trail  ran. 
We  could  not  see  them,  but  we  never  doubted  they  were  there. 

Four  of  their  tree-cat  scouts  were  visible :  I  made  the  sign ;  our 
rifles  crashed  out.  And,  thump!  slap!  thud!  crash!  down  came 
their  dead  a-sprawling  and  bouncing  on  the  dead  leaves.  And 
up  rose  their  astounded  comrades  from  every  hollow,  bush  and 
windfall,  only  to  drop  flat  at  our  rifles'  crack,  and  no  knowing 
if  we  had  hit  any  among  them. 


WEST  RIVER  137 

A  veil  of  smoke  lay  low  among  the  ferns  in  front  of  us.  There 
•was  a  terrible  silence  in  the  forest,  then  screech  on  screech  rent 
the  air,  as  the  panther  slogan  rang  out  from  our  unseen  foes; 
and,  like  a  dreadful  echo,  my  Oneidas  hurled  their  war  cry  back 
at  them;  and  we  all  sprang  to  our  feet  and  moved  swiftly  for- 
ward, crouching  low  in  our  own  rifle  smoke. 

There  came  a  shot,  and  a  cloud  spread  among  the  boughs  of  a 
tall  hemlock;  but  the  fellow  left  his  tree  and  slid  down  on  t'other 
side,  like  a  squirrel,  and  my  wild  Saguenay  was  after  him  in  a 
flash. 

I  saw  the  Oneidas  looking  on  as  though  stupefied;  saw  the 
Saguenay,  shoulder  deep  in  witch-hopple,  seize  something,  heard 
the  mad  struggle,  and  ran  forward  with  Tahioni,  only  to  hear  the 
yelping  scalp-cry  of  the  Montagnais,  and  see  him  in  the  tangle 
of  witch-hopple,  both  knees  on  his  victim's  shoulders,  ripping 
off  the  scalp,  his  arms  and  body  spattered  with  blood. 

The  stupefaction  of  the  Oneidas  lasted  but  a  second,  then  their 
battle  yell  burst  out  in  jealous  fury  indescribable. 

I  saw  Tahioni  chasing  a  strange  Indian  through  a  little  hollow 
full  of  ferns;  saw  Godfrey  Shew  raise  his  rifle  and  kill  the 
fugitive  as  coolly  as  though  he  were  a  running  buck. 

Nick,  his  shoulder  against  a  beech  tree,  stood  firing  with  great 
deliberation  at  something  I  could  not  see. 

The  three  Frenchmen,  de  Golyer,  Luysnes,  and  Johnny,  had 
gone  around,  as  though  deer  driving,  and  were  converging  upon 
a  little  wooded  knoll,  from  which  a  hard-wood  hogback  ran  east. 

Over  this  distant  ridge,  like  shadows,  I  could  see  somebody's 
light  feet  running,  checkered  against  the  sunshine  beyond,  and 
I  fired,  judging  a  man's  height,  if  stooping.  And  saw  something 
dark  fall  and  roll  down  into  a  gully  full  o'  last  year's  damp  and 
rotting  leaves. 

Re-charging  my  rifle,  I  strove  to  realize  that  I  had  slain,  but 
could  not,  so  fierce  the  flame  in  me  was  burning  at  the  thought 
of  the  children's  scalps  these  Iroquois  had  taken. 

"Is  he  down,  Johnny  Silver?"  I  bawled. 

"Fairly  paunched!"  shouted  Luysnes.  "Tell  your  Oneidas  they 
can  take  his  hair,  for  I  shan't  touch  it." 

But  Johnny  Silver,  in  no  wise  averse,  did  that  office  very 
cheerfully. 

"Nona  de  Dieu !"  he  panted,  tugging  at  the  oiled  lock  and  wrench- 
ing free  the  scalp;  "I  have  one  veree  fine  jou-jou,  sacre  garcel 
I  take  two;  mek  for  me  one  fine  wallet!" 

Down  by  the  river  the  rifles  were  cracking  fast  and  a  smoke 


138  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

mist  filled  the  woods.  Ranging  widely  eastward  we  had  turned 
their  left  flank — now  their  right — and  were  forcing  them  to  a 
choice  between  the  Sacandaga  trail  southward  or  the  bee-line 
back  to  Canada  by  the  left  bank  of  West  River. 

How  many  there  were  of  them  I  never  have  truly  learned;  but 
that  scarcely  matters  to  the  bravest  Indian,  when  ambuscaded  and 
taken  so  completely  by  surprise  from  the  rear. 

No  Indians  can  stand  that,  and  but  few  white  men  are  »ble 
to  rally  under  such  circumstances. 

The  Screech-owl,  locked  in  a  death  struggle  with  a  young  Mo- 
hawk, broke  his  arm,  stabbed  him,  and  took  his  scalp  before  I 
could  run  to  his  aid. 

And  there  on  the  ground  lay  four  other  scalps,  two  of  white 
children,  with  the  Little  Red  Foot  painted  on  all. 

I  looked  down  at  the  dead  murderer.  He  was  a  handsome  boy, 
not  twenty,  and  wore  a  white  mask  of  war  paint  and  two  bars 
of  scarlet  on  his  chin,  I  thought — then  realized  that  they  were 
two  thick  streaks  of  running  blood. 

"May  his  clan  bewail  him!"  shouted  the  burly  Screech-owL 
"Let  the  Mohawk  women  mourn  their  dead  who  died  this  day  at 
West  River!  The  Oneida  mock  them!  Koue!"  And  his  terrific 
scalp-yell  pierced  the  racket  of  the  rifles. 

I  heard  a  gruffling  sound  and  thick  breathing  from  behind  a 
pine,  where  the  Water-snake  was  scalping  one  of  the  tree-cat 
scouts — grunting  and  panting  as  he  tugged  at  the  tough  and 
shaven  skin,  which  he  had  grasped  in  his  teeth,  plying  his  knife 
at  the  same  time  because  the  circular  incision  had  not  been 
continuous. 

Suddenly  I  felt  sick,  and  leaned  against  a  tree,  fighting 
nausea  and  a  great  dizziness.  And  was  aware  of  an  arm  around 
my  shoulder. 

Whereupon  I  straightened  up  and  saw  the  little  maid  of 
Askalege  beside  me,  looking  at  me  very  strangely. 

At  the  same  instant  I  heard  a  great  roaring  and  cursing  and 
a  crash  among  the  river-side  willows,  and  was  horrified  to  see 
Nick  down  on  his  back  a-clawing  and  tearing  and  cuffing  a 
Mohawk  warrior,  who  was  clinging  to  him  and  striving  to  use 
his  hatchet. 

We  made  but  a  dozen  leaps  of  it,  Thiohero  and  I,  and  were  in 
a  wasp-nest  of  Mohawks  ere  we  knew  it. 

I  heard  Nick  roar  again  with  pain  and  fury,  but  had  my  hands 
too  full  to  succor  him,  for  a  wild  beast  painted  yellow  was  chok- 
ing me  and  wrestling  me  off  my  feet,  and  little  Thiohero  was 
fighting  like  a  demon  with  her  knife,  on  the  water's  edge. 


WEST  RIVER  139 

The  naked  warrior  I  clutched  was  so  vilely  oiled  that  my  fingers 
slipped  over  him  as  though  it  were  an  eel  I  plucked  at,  and  his 
foul  and  stinking  breath  in  my  face  was  like  a  full  fed  bear's. 

Then,  as  he  strangled  me,  out  of  darkening  eyes  I  saw  his  arm 
lifted — glimpsed  the  hatchet's  sparkle — saw  an  arm  seize  his,  saw 
a  broad  knife  pass  into  his  belly  as  though  it  had  been  butter — 
pass  thrice,  slowly,  ripping  upward  so  that  he  stood  there,  already 
gralloched,  yet  still  breathing  horribly  and  no  bowels  in  him.  .  .  . 
His  falling  hatchet  clinked  among  the  stones.  Then  he  sank  like 
a  stricken  bull,  bellowed,  and  died. 

And,  as  he  fell,  I  heard  my  Saguenay  gabbling,  "Brother! 
brother!"  in  my  ears,  and  felt  his  hand  timidly  seeking  mine. 

Breath  came  back,  and  eyesight,  too,  in  time  to  see  Nick  and 
his  Mohawk  enemy  on  their  feet  again,  and  the  Indian  strike 
my  comrade  with  clubbed  rifle,  turn,  and  dart  into  the  willows. 

My  God,  what  a  crack!  And  down  went  Nick,  like  a  felled 
pine  in  the  thicket. 

But  now  in  my  ears  rang  a  distressful  crying,  like  a  gentle 
wild  thing  wounded  to  the  death;  and  I  saw  two  Mohawks  had 
got  the  little  maid  of  Askalege  between  them,  and  were  drowning 
her  in  the  Big  Eddy. 

I  ran  out  into  the  water,  but  Tahioni,  her  brother,  came  in  a 
flying  leap  from  the  bank  above  me,  and  all  four  went  down  under 
water  as  I  reached  them. 

They  came  up  blinded,  staggering,  one  by  one,  and  I  got 
Thiohero  by  the  hair,  where  she  lay  in  shallow  water,  and  dragged 
her  ashore  behind  me. 

Then  I  saw  her  brother  clear  his  eyes  of  water  and  swing  his 
hatchet  like  swift  lightning,  and  heard  the  smashing  skull 
stroke. 

The  other  Mohawk  dived  like  an  otter  between  us,  and  I  strove 
to  spear  him  with  my  knife,  but  only  slashed  him  and  saw  the 
long,  thin  string  of  blood  follow  where  he  swam  under  water. 

My  powder-pan  was  wet  and  flashed  when  I  tried  to  shoot 
him,  where  I  stood  shoulder  deep  in  the  Big  Eddy. 

Then  came  a  thrashing,  splashing  roar  like  a  deer  herd  cross- 
ing a  marshy  creek,  and,  below  us,  I  saw  a  dozen  Mohawks 
leap  into  the  water  and  thrash  their  way  over.  And  not  a  rifle 
among  us  that  was  dry  enough  to  take  a  toll  of  our  enemies 
crossing  the  West  River  plain  in  sight! 

Lord,  what  a  day!     And  not  fought  as  I  had  pictured  battles. 

.No!     For  it  was  blind  combat,  and  neither  managed  as  planned 

nor  in  any  kind  of  order  or  discipline.     Nor  did  we  ever,  as  I 

have  said,  discover  how  many  enemies  were  opposed  to  us.    And 


140  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

I  am  certain  they  believed  that  a  full  regiment  had  struck  their 
rear;  otherwise,  I  think  it  had  proven  a  very  bloody  business 
for  me  and  my  people.  Because  the  Mohawks  are  brave  war- 
riors, and  only  the  volley  at  their  backs  and  the  stupefying 
down-crash  of  their  tree-scouts  demoralized  them  and  left  them 
capable  only  of  fighting  like  cornered  wild  things  in  a  maddened 
effort  to  get  away. 

Lord,  Lord!  What  a  battle!  For  all  were  filthy  with  blood, 
and  there  were  brains  and  hair  and  guts  sticking  to  knives  and 
hatchets,  and  bodies  and  limbs  all  smeared.  Good  God!  Was 
this  war?  And  the  green  flies  already  whirling  around  us  in  the 
sunshine,  and  settling  on  the  faces  of  the  dead! — 

The  little  maid  of  Askalege,  leaning  on  her  brother's  shoulder, 
was  coughing  up  water  she  had  swallowed. 

Nick,  with  a  bloody  sconce,  but  no  worse  damage,  sat  upon  a 
rock  and  washed  out  his  clotted  hair. 

"Hell!"  quoth  he,  when  he  beheld  me.  "Here  be  I  with  a 
broken  poll,  and  yonder  goes  the  Indian  who  gave  it  me." 

"Sit  still,  idiot!"  said  I,  and  set  the  ranger's  whistle  to  my  lips. 

White  and  red,  my  men  came  running  from  their  ferocious 
hunting.  Not  a  man  was  missing,  which  was  another  lesson  in 
war  to  me,  for  I  thought  always  that  death  dealt  hard  with  both 
sides,  and  I  could  not  understand  how  so  many  guns  could  be 
fired  with  no  corpse  to  mourn  among  us. 

We  had  taken  ten  scalps;  and,  as  only  Johnny  Silver  among 
my  white  people  fancied  such  trophies,  my  Oneidas  skinned 
the  noddles  of  our  quarry,  and,  like  all  Indians,  counted  any 
scalp  a  glory,  no  matter  whose  knife  or  bullet  dropped  the  game. 

We  all  bore  scratches,  and  some  among  us  were  stiff,  so  that 
the  scratch  might,  perhaps,  be  called  a  wound.  A  bullet  had 
barked  de  Golyer,  another  had  burned  Tahioni;  Silver  proudly 
wore  a  knife  wound;  the  Screech-owl  had  been  beaten  and  some- 
what badly  bitten.  As  for  Nick,  his  head  was  cracked,  and  the 
little  maid  of  Askalege  still  spewed  water. 

As  for  me,  my  throat  was  so  swollen  and  bruised  I  could 
scarce  speak  or  swallow. 

However,  there  was  work  still  to  be  done,  so  I  took  Godfrey  and 
Luysnes,  the  Screech-owl,  and  the  Water-snake;  motioned  Yellow 
Leaf,  the  Montagnais  to  follow,  and  set  off  across  West  River, 
determined  to  drive  our  enemies  so  deep  into  the  wilderness  that 
they  would  never  forget  the  Big  Eddy  as  long  as  they  survived 
on  earth. 


CHAPTEK  XVI 

A  TROUBLED  MIND 

was  a  wild  brant  chase  indeed!  And  although  there 
JL  were  good  trackers  among  us,  the  fleeing  Canienga  took  to  the 
mountain  streams  and  travelled  so,  wading  northward  mile  after 
mile,  which  very  perfectly  covered  their  tracks,  and  finally  left  us 
travelling  in  circles  near  Silver  Lake. 

I  now  think  St.  Sacrament  must  have  mirrored  their  canoes — 
God  and  they  alone  know  the  truth! — for  I  never  heard  of  any 
other  Mohawks,  or  any  Englishmen  at  all,  or  Frenchmen  for 
that  matter,  who  ever  have  heard  of  this  Mohawk  war  party 
coming  south  to  meet  and  rescue  Sir  John.*  Nor  do  our  own 
records,  except  generally,  mention  our  measures  taken  to  stop 
the  Sacandaga  trail,  or  speak  of  the  fight  at  the  Big  Eddy  as  a 
separate  and  distinct  combat. 

It  may  be  that  this  fight  at  the  Big  Eddy  remained  unnoticed 
because  we  sustained  no  losses.  Also,  we  were  losing  our  people 
all  along  the  wilderness,  from  the  ashes  of  Falmouth  to  the 
Ohio.  I  do  not  know.  But  my  chiefest  concern,  then  and  later, 
was  that  the  survivors  among  these  Caniengas  got  clean  away, 
which  misfortune  troubled  my  mind,  although  my  Oneidas  had 
a  Dutch  dozen  of  their  scalps,  all  hooped  and  curing,  when  we 
limped  into  the  Drowned  Lands  from  our  wild  brant  chase 
above. 

Now,  my  orders  being  to  stop  the  Sacandaga  Trail,  there 
seemed  no  better  way  than  to  cut  this  same  trail  with  a  ditch 
and  plant  in  it  a  chevaux-de-f rise ;  and  then  so  dispose  my  men 
that  even  a  scout  might  remain  in  touch  by  signal  and  be  pre- 
pared to  fall  back  behind  this  barrier  if  Sir  John  crept  upon  our 
settlements  by  stealth. 

Fish  House  could  provision  us,  or  the  Point,  if  necessary;  and 
any  scout  of  ours  in  the  Drowned  Lands  ought  to  see  smoke  by 
day  or  fire  by  night  from  Maxon's  nose  to  Mayfield. 

t  *  Years  later,  Thayendenegea  made  a  reference  to  this  attempt,  but  the 
Inference  waa  that  he  himself  led  the  war  party,  which  is  not  true,  because 
Brant  was  then  in  England. 

141 


142  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

My  scout  of  four  and  I  passed  in  wearily  between  the  rough, 
low  redoubts  at  Fish  House,  after  sunset,  and  gave  an  account 
to  Peter  Wayland,  the  captain  commanding  the  post,  that  the 
northward  war-trail  was  now  clean  as  far  as  Silver  Lake,  and  that 
I  proposed  to  block  it  and  watch  it  above  and  below. 

Twilight  was  deepening  when  we  came  to  John  Howell's  de- 
serted log-house  on  the  Vlaie,  and  heard  the  owls  very  mournful 
in  the  tamarack  forests  eastward. 

A  few  rods  farther  on  the  hard  ridge  and  one  of  my  men 
challenged  smartly.  In  thick  darkness  he  led  us  over  hard  ground 
along  the  vast  wastes  of  bushes  and  reeds,  to  where  a  new  ditch 
had  been  dug  down  to  the  Vlaie  Water. 

Thence  he  guided  us  through  our  chevaux-de-f rise ;  and  I  saw 
my  own  people  lying  in  the  shadowy  gleam  of  a  watch-fire;  and  an 
Oneida  slowly  moving  around  the  smouldering  coals,  chanting  the 
refrain  of  his  first  scalp-dance: 

SCALP  SONG 

"Chiefs  in  your  white  plumes! 
When  your  Tall  Cloud  glooms, 
And  we  Oneidas  wonder 
To  hear  your  thunder — 
And  the  moon  pales, 
And  the  Seven  Dancers  wear  veils, 
Is  it  your  rain  that  wails? 
Is  it  the  noise  of  hail? 
Is  it  the  rush  of  frightened  deer 
That  we  Oneidas  hear?" 

And  the  others  chanted  in  sombre  answer: 

"It  is  the  weeping  of  the  Mohawk  Nation, 
Mourning  amid  their  desolation, 
For  the  scalpless  head 
Of  each  young  warrior  dead. 

A  Voice  from  the  Dark 

"It  is  the  cry  of  their  women,  who  bewail 
Their  warriors  dead, 
Not  the  east  wind  we  hear ! 
It  is  the  noise  of  their  women,  who  rail 
At  those  who  fled, 
Not  whistling  hail  we  hear! 
It  is  the  rush  of  feet  that  are  afraid, 
Not  the  swift  flight  of  deer!" 


A  TROUBLED  MIND  143 

Another  Voice 

"Let  them  flee,  —  the  East  Gate  Keepers— 
Whose  dead  lie  still  as  sleepers! 
Let  the  Canienga  fly  before  our  wrath, 
Scatter  like  chaff, 
When  we   Oneidas   laugh! 


Tahioni 

'^Holder  of  Heaven, 

And  every  Chief  named  in  the  Great  Kite! 
Dancers  Seven! 

And  the  Eight  Thunders  plumed  in  white  I 
At  dawn  I  was  a  young  man, 
Who  had  seen  no  enemy  die. 
But  my  foe  was  a  deer  who  ran, 
And  I   struck;    and  let   him  lie." 

The  Screech-owl  Dances 


Mohawk  Nation  has  fled, 
But  my  war-axe  sticks  in  its  head! 
Koue!" 

The  Water-snake  Dances 

"Let  the  Wild  Goose  keep  to  the  skies! 
Where  the  Brant  alights,  he  dies! 
Kou6!" 

Thiohero,  their  Prophetess 

"The  Lodge  poles  crack  in  the  East! 
The  Long  House  falls. 
Who  calls  the  Condolence  Feast? 
Who  calls  F' 

She  Dances  Very  Slowly 

-"Who  calls  the  Roll  of  the  Dead? 
Who  opens  the  doorT 
The  Fire  in  the  West  burns  red, 
But  our  fire-place  burns  no  morel 
Thendara — Thendara  no  more!" 


144  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

It  was  plain  to  me  that  my  Indians  meant  to  make  a  night  of 
it — even  those  who,  dog  weary,  had  but  now  returned  with  me 
from  the  futile  brant  chase  and  sat  eating  their  samp. 

The  French  trappers  squatted  in  a  row,  smoking  their  pipes 
and  looking  on  with  that  odd  sympathy  for  any  savage  rite,  which, 
I  think,  partly  explains  French  success  among  all  Indians. 

Firelight  glimmered  red  on  their  weather-ravaged  faces,  on 
their  gaudy  fringes  and  moccasins. 

Near  them,  lolling  in  the  warm  young  grass,  sprawled  Nick 
and  Godfrey.  I  sat  down  by  them,  my  back  against  a  log.  My 
Saguenay  crept  to  my  side.  I  gave  him  to  eat,  and,  for  my  own 
supper,  ate  slowly  a  handful  of  parched  corn,  watching  my  young 
Oneidas  around  the  fire,  where  they  moved  in  their  slow  dance, 
singing  and  boasting  of  their  first  scalps  taken. 

The  little  maid  of  Askalege  came  and  seated  herself  close  to 
me  on  my  right. 

"I  am  weary,"  she  murmured,  letting  her  head  fall  back  against 
the  log. 

"Tell  me,"  said  I  in  English,  "is  there  any  reason  why  this 
Saguenay,  who  has  proved  himself  a  real  man  and  no  wolf, 
should  not  sing  his  own  scalp-song  among  our  Oneidas?" 

"None,"  she  repeated.      "The  Yellow  Leaf  is  a  real  man." 

"Tell  him  so." 

The  girl  turned  her  head  and  spoke  to  the  Saguenay  in  his 
own  gutturals.  I  also  watched  to  see  what  effect  such  praise  might 
have. 

For  a  few  minutes  he  sat  motionless  and  without  any  ex- 
pression upon  his  narrow  visage,  yet  I  knew  he  must  be  bursting 
with  pride. 

"Tahioni!"  I  called  out.  "Here,  also,  is  a  real  man  who  has 
taken  scalps  in  battle.  Shall  not  our  brother,  Yellow  Leaf,  of  the 
Montagnais,  sing  his  first  scalp-song  at  an  Oneida  fire?" 

There  was  a  pause,  then  every  Oneida  hatchet  flashed  high  in 
the  fire-light. 

"Koue!"  they  shouted.  "We  give  fire  right  to  our  brother  of 
the  Montagnais,  who  is  a  real  man  and  no  wolf!" 

At  that  the  Saguenay  hunter,  who,  in  a  single  day,  had  be- 
came a  warrior,  leaped  lightly  to  his  feet,  and  began  to  trot 
like  a  timber  wolf  around  the  fire,  running  hither  and  thither 
as  an  eager,  wild  thing  runs  when  searching. 

Then  he  shouted  something  I  did  not  understand;  but  Thiohero 
interpreted,  watching  him :  "He  looks  in  vain  for  the  tracks  of  a 
poor  Saguenay  hunter,  which  once  he  was,  but  he  can  find  only 


A  TROUBLED  MIND  145 

the  footprints  of  a  proud  Saguenay  warrior,  which  now  he  has 
become !" 

Now,  in  dumb  show,  this  fierce  and  homeless  rover  enacted 
all  that  had  passed, — how  he  had  encountered  the  Canienga, 
how  they  had  mocked  and  stoned  him,  how  we  had  captured  him, 
proved  kind  to  him,  released  him;  how  he  had  returned  to  warn 
us  of  ambuscade. 

He  drew  his  war-axe  and  shouted  his  snarling  battle-cry; 
and  all  the  Oneidas  became  excited  and  answered  like  panthers 
on  a  dark  mountain. 

Then  Yellow  Leaf  began  to  dance  an  erratic,  weird  dance — 
and,  somehow,  I  thought  of  dead  leaves  eddying  in  a  raw  wind 
as  he  whirled  around  the  fire,  singing  his  first  scalp-song: 

"Who  are  the  Yanyengi,*  that  a 
Saguenay  should  fear  them? 
They  are  but  Mowaks,t  and 
Real  men  jeer  them! 
I  am  a  warrior;  I  wear  the  lock! 
I  am  brother  to  the  People  of  the  Rock!  $ 
Red  is  my  hatchet;  my  knife  is  red; 
Woe  to  the  Mengwe,  who  wail  their  dead! 
I  wear  the  Little  Red  Foot  and  the  Hawk; 
Death  to  the  Haquas  who  stone  and  mock! 
Koue!   Hal!" 

An  Oneida 

"Hah! 

Hawasahsai ! 
Hah!" 

The  Saguenay 

"Who  are  the  Yanyengi,  that 
Real  men  should  obey  themT 
We  People  of  the  Dawn  were 
Born  to   slay  them! 

I  eat  twigs  in  winter  when  there  is  no  game; 
What  does  he  eat,  the  Maqua?    What  means  his  name? 
To  each  of  us  a  Little  Red  Foot!     To  each  his  clan! 
Let  the  Mengwe  flee  when  they  scent  a  Man! 
Koue!   Hal!" 

•  The  Huron  for  Canienga. 

t  A  Mohican  term  of  insult,  but  generally  used  to  expresa  contempt  for 
the  Canienga. 
}  Oneida. 


146  THE  LITTLE  BED  FOOT 

And 

"Hah!     Hawasahsai!" 

chanted  the  Oneidas,  trotting  to  and  fro  in  the  uncertain  red 
light,  while  we  white  men  sat,  chin  on  fist,  a-watching  them;  and 
the  little  sorceress  of  Askalege  beat  her  palms  softly  together, 
timing  the  rhythm  for  lack  of  a  drum. 

An  hour  passed :  my  Indians  still  danced  and  sang  and  bragged 
of  deeds  done  and  deeds  to  be  accomplished;  my  young  sorceress 
sat  asleep,  her  head  fallen  back  against  me,  her  lips  just  parted. 
At  her  feet  a  toad,  attracted  by  the  insects  which  came  into  the 
fire-ring,  jumped  heavily  from  time  to  time  and  snapped  them  up. 

An  intense  silence  brooded  over  that  vast  wilderness  called  the 
Drowned  Lands;  not  a  bittern  croaked,  not  a  wild  duck  stirred 
among  the  reeds. 

Very  far  away  in  the  mist  of  the  tamaracks  I  heard  owls 
faintly  halooing,  and  it  is  a  melancholy  sound  which  ever  renders 
me  uneasy. 

I  was  weary  to  the  bones,  yet  did  not  desire  sleep.  A  vague 
presentiment,  like  a  mist  on  some  young  peak,  seemed  to  possess 
my  senses,  making  me  feel  as  lonely  as  a  mountain  after  the 
sun  has  set. 

I  had  never  before  suffered  from  solitude,  unless  missing  the 
beloved  dead  means  that. 

I  missed  them  now, — parents  who  seemed  ages  long  absent, — 
or  was  it  I,  their  only  son,  who  tarried  here  below  too  long,  and 
beyond  a  reasonable  time? 

I  was  lonely.  I  looked  at  the  scalps,  all  curing  on  their  hoops, 
hanging  in  a  row  near  the  fire.  I  glanced  at  Nick.  He  lay 
on  his  blanket,  sleeping.  .  .  .  The  head  of  the  little  Athabasca 
Sorceress  lay  heavy  on  my  shoulder;  she  made  no  sound  of 
breathing  in  her  quiet  sleep.  Both  her  hands  were  doubled  into 
childish  fists,  thumbs  inside. 

Johnny  Silver  smoked  and  smoked,  his  keen,  tireless  eyes  on 
the  Scalp  Dancers;  Luysnes,  also,  blinked  at  them  in  the  ruddy 
glare,  his  powerful  hands  clasping  his  knees;  de  Golyer  was  on 
guard. 

I  caught  Godfrey's  eye,  motioned  him  to  relieve  Joe,  then 
dropped  my  head  once  more  in  sombre  meditation,  lonely,  rest- 
less, weary,  and  unsatisfied.  .  .  . 

And  now,  again, — as  it  had  been  for  perhaps  a  longer  period 
of  time  than  I  entirely  comprehended, — I  seemed  to  see  darkly, 


A  TROUBLED  MIND  147 

and  mirrored  against  darkness,  the  face  of  the  Scottish 
girl.  .  .  .  And  her  yellow  hair  and  dark  eyes;  .  .  .  and  that 
little  warning  glimmer  from  which  dawned  that  faint  smile 
of  hers.  .  .  . 

That  I  was  lonely  for  lack  of  her  I  never  dreamed  then.  I 
was  content  to  see  her  face  grow  vaguely;  sweetly  take  shape 
from  the  darkness  under  my  absent  gaze; — content  to  evoke  the 
silent  phantom  out  of  the  stuff  that  ghosts  are  made  of — those 
frail  phantoms  which  haunt  the  secret  recesses  of  men's  minds. 

I  was  asleep  when  Nick  touched  me.  Thiohero  still  slept 
against  my  shoulder;  the  Yellow  Leaf  and  the  Oneidas  still 
danced  and  vaunted  their  prowess,  and  they  had  set  a  post  in  the 
soft  earth  near  the  shore,  and  had  painted  it  red;  and  now  all 
their  hatchets  were  sticking  in  it,  while  they  trotted  tirelessly 
in  their  scalping  dance,  and  carved  the  flame-shot  darkness  with 
naked  knives. 

Wearily  I  rose,  took  my  rifle,  re-primed  it,  and  stumbled  away 
to  take  my  turn  on  guard,  relieving  Nick,  who,  in  turn,  had  re- 
placed Godfrey,  whom  I  had  sent  after  Joe  de  Golyer. 

They  had  dug  our  ditch  so  well  that  the  Vlaie  water  filled 
it,  making,  with  the  pointed  staves,  an  excellent  abattis  against 
any  who  came  by  stealth  along  the  Sacandaga  trail. 

Behind  this  I  walked  my  po°t,  watching  the  eastern  stars,  which 
seemed  paler,  yet  still  remained  clearly  twinkling.  And  no  birds 
had  yet  awakened,  though  the  owls  had  become  quiet  in  the 
tamaracks,  and  neither  insect  nor  frog  now  chanted  their  endless 
runes  of  night. 

Shouldering  my  rifle,  I  walked  to  and  fro,  listening,  scanning 
the  darkness  ahead.  .  .  .  And,  presently,  not  lonely;  for  a  slim 
phantom  kept  silent  pace  with  me  as  I  walked  my  post — so  near, 
at  times,  that  my  nostrils  seemed  sweet  with  the  scent  of  apple 
bloom.  .  .  .  And  I  felt  her  breath  against  my  cheek  and  heard 
her  low  whisper. 

Which  presently  became  louder  among  the  reeds — a  little  breeze 
which  stirs  before  dawn  and  makes  a  thin  ripple  around  each 
Blender  stem. 

Tahioni  came  to  relieve  me,  grave,  not  seeming  fatigued,  and, 
in  his  eyes,  the  shining  fire  of  triumph  still  unquenched. 

I  went  back  to  the  fire  and  lay  down  on  my  blanket,  where  now 
all  were  asleep  save  my  Saguenay. 

When  he  saw  me  he  came  and  squatted  at  my  feet. 


148  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

"Sleep  you,  also,  brother,"  said  I.  "Day  dawns  and  the  sunset 
is  far  away." 

But  the  last  time  I  looked  before  I  slept  I  saw  him  still  squat- 
ting at  my  feet  like  a  fierce,  lean  dog,  and  staring  straight  before 
him. 

And  I  remember  that  the  fresh,  joyous  chorus  of  waking  birds 
was  like  the  loud  singing  of  spirit-children.  And  to  the  sweet 
sound  of  that  blessed  choir  I  surrendered  mind  and  body,  and  so 
was  borne  on  wings  of  song  into  the  halls  of  slumber-land. 

The  sun  was  high  when  our  sentinel  hailed  a  detail  from  Fish 
House,  bringing  us  a  sheep,  three  sacks  of  corn,  and  a  keg  of 
fresh  milk. 

I  had  bathed  me  in  the  Vlaie  Water,  had  eaten  soupaan,  turned 
over  my  command  to  Nick,  and  now  was  ready  to  report  in  person 
to  the  Commandant  at  Summer  House  Point. 

My  Saguenay  had  slain  a  gorgeous  wood-duck  with  his  ar- 
rows; and  now,  brave  in  fresh  paint  and  brilliant  plumage, 
he  sat  awaiting  me  in  the  patched  canoe  which  had  belonged, 
no  doubt,  to  John  Howell. 

I  went  down  among  the  pinxter  bushes  and  tall  reeds  to  the 
shore;  and  so  we  paddled  away  on  the  calm,  deep  current  which 
makes  a  hundred  snake-like  curls  and  bends  to  every  mile,  so 
that  the  mile  itself  becomes  doubled, — nay,  tripled! — ere  one 
attains  his  destination. 

It  was  strange  how  I  was  not  yet  rid  of  that  vague  sense  of 
impending  trouble,  nor  could  account  for  the  foreboding  in  any 
manner,  being  full  of  health  and  now  rested.  t 

My  mind,  occupied  by  my  report,  which  I  was  now  reading 
where  I  had  written  it  in  my  carnet,  nevertheless  seemed  crowded 
with  other  thoughts, — how  we  would  seem  each  to  the  other 
when  we  met  again, — Penelope  Grant  and  I.  And  if  she  would 
seem  to  take  a  pleasure  in  my  return  .  .  .  perhaps  say  as  much 
.  .  .  smile,  perhaps.  .  .  .  And  we  might  walk  a  little  on  the  new 
grass  under  the  apple  bloom.  .  .  . 

A  troubled  mind!  And  knew  not  the  why  and  wherefore  of 
its  own  restlessness  and  apprehension.  For  the  sky  was  softly 
blue,  and  the  water,  too;  and  a  gentle  wind  aided  our  paddles, 
which  pierced  the  stream  so  silently  that  scarce  a  diamond-drop 
fell  from  the  sunlit  blades. 

I  could  see  the  Summer  House,  and  a  striped  jack  flying  in 
the  sun.  The  green  and  white  lodge  seemed  very  near  across 
the  marshes,  yet  it  was  some  little  time  before  I  first  smelled 


A  TROUBLED  MIND  149 

the  smoke  of  camp  fires,  and  then  saw  it  rising  above  the  bushes. 

Presently  a  Continental  on  guard  hailed  our  canoe.  We  landed. 
A  corporal  came,  then  a  sergeant, — one  Caspar  Quant,  whom  I 
knew, — and  so  we  were  passed  on,  my  Indian  and  I,  until  the 
gate-guard  at  the  Point  halted  us  and  an  officer  came  from  the 
roadside, — one  Captain  Van  Pelt,  whom  I  knew  in  Albany. 

Saluted,  and  the  officer's  salute  rendered,  he  became  curious 
to  see  the  fresh  scalps  flapping  at  my  Saguenay's  girdle,  and  the 
new  war-paint  and  the  oil  smelling  rank  in  the  sweet  air. 

But  I  told  him  nothing,  asking  only  for  the  Commandant,  who, 
he  gave  account,  was  a  certain  Major  Westfall,  lodging  at  the 
Summer  House,  and  lately  transferred  from  the  Massachusetts 
Line,  along  with  other  Yankee  officers — why? — God  and  Massa- 
chusetts knew,  perhaps. 

So  I  passed  the  gate  and  walked  toward  the  lodge.  Sir  John's 
blooded  cattle  were  grazing  ahead,  and  I  saw  Flora  at  the  well, 
and  Colas  busy  among  beds  of  garden  flowers,  spading  and 
weeding  under  the  south  porch. 

And  I  saw  something  else  that  halted  me.  For,  seated  upon 
a  low  limb  of  an  apple  tree,  her  two  little  feet  hanging  down, 
and  garbed  in  pink-flowered  chintz  and  snowy  fichu,  I  beheld 
Penelope  Grant,  a-knitting. 

And  by  all  the  pagan  gods! — there  in  a  ring  around  her 
strolled  and  lolled  a  dozen  Continental  officers  in  buff  and  blue 
and  gold! 

There  was  no  reason  why,  but  the  scene  chilled  me. 

One  o'  these  dandies  had  her  ball  of  wool,  and  was  a-winding 
of  it  as  he  sat  cross-legged  on  the  turf,  a  silly,  happy  look  on  his 
beardless  face. 

Another  was  busy  writing  on  a  large  sheet  of  paper, — verses, 
no  doubt! — for  he  seemed  vastly  pleased  with  his  progress,  and 
I  saw  her  look  at  him  shyly  under  her  dark  lashes,  and  could 
have  slain  him  for  the  smirk  he  rendered.  Also,  it  did  not 
please  me  that  her  petticoat  was  short  and  revealed  her  ankles 
and  slim  feet  in  silver-buckled  shoon. 

I  was  near;  I  could  hear  their  voices,  their  light  laughter; 
and,  rarely,  her  voice  in  reply  to  some  pointed  gallantry  or  jest. 

None  had  perceived  me  advancing  among  the  trees,  nor  now 
noticed  me  where  I  was  halted  there  in  the  checkered  sunshine. 

But,  as  I  stirred  and  moved  forward,  the  girl  turned  her  head, 
caught  a  glimpse  of  me  and  nay  painted  Indian,  stared  in  silence, 
then  slid  from  her  perch  and  stood  up  on  the  grass,  her  needles 
motionless. 


150  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

All  the  young  popinjays  got  to  their  feet,  and  all  stared  as  I 
offered  them  the  salute  of  rank;  but  all  rendered  it  politely. 

"Lieutenant  of  Eangers  Drogue  to  report  to  Major  Westfall," 
said  I  bluntly,  in  reply  to  a  Continental  Captain's  inquiry. 

"Yonder,  sir,  on  the  porch  with  Lady  Johnson,"  said  he. 

I  bared  my  head,  then,  and  walked  to  Penelope.  She  curtsied: 
I  bent  to  her  hand. 

"Are  you  well,  my  lord?"  she  asked  in  a  colourless  voice,  which 
chilled  me  again  for  its  seeming  lack  of  warmth. 

"And  you,  Penelope?" 

"I  am  well,  I  thank  you." 

"I  am  happy  to  learn  so." 

That  was  all.  I  bowed  again.  She  curtsied.  I  replaced  my 
mole-skin  cap,  saluted  the  popinjays,  and  marched  forward.  My 
Indian  stalked  at  my  heels. 

God  knew  why,  but  mine  had  become  a  trouble  mind  that 
sunny  morning. 


CHAPTEK  XVH 

DEEPER  TROUBLE 

I  HAD  been  welcomed  like  a  brother  by  Polly  Johnson.  Claudia, 
too,  made  a  little  fete  of  my  return,  unscathed  from  my  first 
war-trail.  And  after  I  had  completed  my  report  to  the  Continental 
Major,  who  proved  complacent  to  the  verge  of  flattery,  I  was 
free  to  spend  the  day  at  the  Summer  House — or,  rather,  I  was 
at  liberty  to  remain  as  long  a  time  as  it  took  a  well-mounted 
express  to  ride  to  Johnstown  with  my  report  and  return  with 
further  orders  from  Colonel  Dayton  for  me  and  my  small 
command. 

A  Continental  battalion  still  garrisoned  the  Point;  their  of- 
ficers as  I  had  been  forced  to  notice  in  the  orchard,  were  received 
decently  by  Lady  Johnson. 

And,  at  that  crisis  in  her  career,  I  think  I  admired  Polly 
Johnson  as  entirely  as  I  ever  had  admired  any  woman  I  ever 
knew. 

For  she  was  still  only  a  child,  and  had  been  petted  and  spoiled 
always  by  flattery  and  attentions:  and  she  was  not  very  well — 
her  delicate  condition  having  now  become  touchingly  apparent. 
She  was  all  alone, — save  for  Claudia, — among  the  soldiery  of  a 
new  and  hostile  nation;  she  was  a  fugitive  from  her  own  manor; 
and  she  must  have  been  constantly  a  prey  to  the  most  poignant 
anxieties  concerning  her  husband,  whom  she  loved, — whatever 
were  his  fishy  sentiments  regarding  her! — and  who,  she  knew, 
was  now  somewhere  in  the  Northern  and  trackless  wilderness 
and  fighting  nature  herself  for  his  very  life. 

Her  handsome  and  beloved  brother,  also,  was  roaming  the 
woods,  somewhere,  with  Walter  Butler  and  McDonald  and  a 
bloody  horde  of  Iroquois  in  their  paint, — and,  worse  still,  a 
horde  of  painted  white  men,  brutes  in  man's  guise  and  Mohawk 
war-paint  and  feathers,  who  already  were  known  by  the  terri- 
fying name  of  Blue-eyed  Indians. 

Yet  this  young  girl,  having  resolved  to  face  conditions  with 
courage  and  composure,  after  her  first  bitter  and  natural  out- 
burst, never  whimpered,  never  faltered. 

151 


152  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

Enemy  officers,  if  gentlemen,  she  received  with  quiet,  dignified 
civility,  and  no  mention  of  politics  or  war  was  suffered  to  embar- 
rass anybody  at  her  table. 

All,  I  noticed,  paid  her  a  deference  both  protective  find  tender, 
which,  in  gentlemen,  is  instinctive  when  a  woman  is  in  so  delicate 
a  condition  and  in  straits  so  melancholy. 

Claudia,  however,  I  soon  perceived,  had  been  nothing  tamed, 
and  even  less  daunted  by  the  errant  arrows  of  adversity;  for 
her  bright  eyes  were  ever  on  duty,  and  had  plainly  made  a  havoc 
of  the  Continental  Major's  heart,  to  judge  by  his  sheep's  eyes 
and  clumsy  assiduities. 

For  when  he  left  the  veranda  and  went  away  noisily  in  his 
big  spurs,  she  whispered  me  that  he  had  already  offered  himself 
thrice,  and  that  she  meant  to  make  it  a  round  half-dozen  ere 
he  received  his  final  quietus. 

"A  widower,"  quoth  she,  "and  bald;  and  with  seven  hungry 
children  in  Boston!  Oh,  Lord.  Am  I  come  to  that?  Only 
that  it  passes  time  to  play  with  men,  I'd  not  trouble  to  glance 
askance  at  your  Yankee  gentlemen,  Jack  Drogue." 

"Some  among  them  have  not  yet  glanced  askance  at  you,"  re- 
marked Lady  Johnson,  placid  above  her  sewing. 

"Do  you  mean  those  suckling  babes  in  the  orchard  yonder? 
Oh,  la  I  When  the  Major  leaves,  I  shall  choose  the  likeliest 
among  'em  to  amuse  me.  Not  that  I  would  cross  Penelope," 
she  added  gaily,  "or  flout  her.  No.  But  these  boys  perplex  her. 
They  are  too  ardent,  and  she  too  kind." 

"What!"  I  exclaimed,  feeling  my  face  turn  hot. 

"Why,  it  is  true  enough,"  remarked  Lady  Johnson.  "Yonder 
child  has  no  experience,  and  is  too  tender  at  heart  to  resent  a 
gallantry  over-bold.  Which  is  why  I  keep  my  eye  upon  these 
youngsters  that  they  make  not  a  fool  of  a  girl  who  is  easily 
confused  by  flattery,  and  who  remains  silent  when  dusk  and  the 
fleeting  moment  offer  opportunities  to  impudent  young  men, 
which  they  seldom  fail  to  embrace." 

"And  seldom  fail  to  embrace  the  lady,  also,"  added  Claudia, 
laughing.  "You  were  different,  Jack." 

"I  saw  that  ensign,  Dudley,  kiss  her  behind  the  lilacs,"  added 
Lady  Johnson,  "and  the  girl  seemed  dumb,  and  never  even  up- 
braided the  little  beast.  Had  she  complained  to  me  I  should 
have  made  him  certain  observations,  but  could  not  while  she 
herself  remained  mute.  Because  I  do  not  choose  to  have  amybody 
think  I  go  about  eavesdropping." 

"Penelope    Grant   appears   to   find   their   company   agreeable," 


DEEPER  TROUBLE  153 

said  I,  in  a  voice  not  like  my  own,  but  a  dry  and  sullen  voice 
such  as  I  never  before  heard  issue  out  o'  my  own  mouth. 

"Penelope  likes  men,"  observed  Lady  Johnson,  sewing  steadily 
upon  her  baby's  garments  of  fine  linen. 

"Penelope  is  not  too  averse  to  a  stolen  kiss,  I  fear,"  said 
Claudia,  smiling.  "Lord!  Nor  is  any  pretty  woman,  if  only  she 
admit  the  truth!  No!  However,  there  is  a  certain  shock  in  a 
kiss  which  silences  maiden  inexperience  and  sadly  confuses  the 
unaccustomed.  Wait  till  the  girl  gains  confidence  to  box  some 
impertinent's  ear!" 

I  knew  not  why,  yet  never,  I  think,  had  any  news  sounded 
in  my  ears  so  distastefully  as  the  news  I  now  had  of  this  girl, 
I  remembered  Nick's  comment, — "Like  flies  around  a  sap-pan." 
And  it  added  nothing  to  my  pleasure  or  content  of  mind  to  turn 
and  gaze  upon  that  disquieting  scene  in  the  orchard  yonder. 

For  here,  it  seemed,  was  another  Claudia  in  the  making, — still 
unlearned  in  woman's  wiles;  not  yet  equipped  for  those  subtle 
coquetries  and  polished  cruelties  which  destroy,  yet  naturally  and 
innocently  an  enchantress  of  men.  And  some  day  to  be  conscious 
of  her  power,  and  certain  to  employ  it! 

Flora  came,  wearing  a  blue  and  orange  bandanna,  and  the 
great  gold  hoops  in  her  ears  glittering  in  the  sun. 

Each  day,  now,  it  appeared,  Lady  Johnson  retired  for  an 
hour's  repose  whilst  Claudia  read  to  her;  and  that  hour  had 
arrived. 

"You  dine  with  us,  of  course,"  said  Lady  Johnson,  going, 
and  looking  at  me  earnestly.  Then  there  was  a  sudden  flash  of 
tears;  but  none  fell. 

"My  dear,  dear  Jack,"  she  murmured,  as  I  laid  my  lips  against 
both  her  hands.  .  .  .  And  so  she  went  into  the  house,  Claudia 
lingering,  having  shamelessly  pressed  my  hand,  and  a  devil 
laughing  at  me  out  of  her  two  eyes. 

"Is  there  news  of  Sir  John  to  comfort  us?"  she  whispered, 
making  a  caress  of  her  voice  as  she  knew  so  well  how  to  do. 

"And  if  I  have  any,  I  may  not  tell  you,  Claudia,"  said  I. 

"Oh,  la !  Aid  and  comfort  to  the  enemy  ?  Is  it  that,  Jack  ? 
And  if  you  but  wink  me  news  that  Sir  John  is  safe?" 

"I  may  not  even  wink,"  said  I,  smiling  forlornly. 

"Aye?  So!  That's  it,  is  it!  A  wink  from  you  at  me,  and 
pouf! — a  courtmartial I  Bang!  A  squad  of  execution!  Is  that 
it,  Jack?" 

"I  should  deserve  it." 


154  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

"Lordl  If  men  really  got  their  deserts,  procreation  would 
cease,  and  the  world,  depopulated,  revert  to  the  forest  beasts. 
Well,  then — so  Sir  John  is  got  away?" 

"I  did  not  say  so." 

"You  wear  upon  your  honest  countenance  all  the  news  you 
contain,  dear  Jack,"  said  she  gaily.  "It  was  always  so;  any 
woman  may  read  you  like  a  printed  page — if  she  trouble  to  do 
it.  ...  And  so!  Sir  John  is  safe  at  last!  Well,  thank  God  for 
that.  .  .  .  You  may  kiss  my  cheek  if  you  ask  me." 

She  drew  too  near  me,  but  I  had  no  mind  for  more  trouble 
than  now  possessed  me,  so  let  her  pretty  hand  lie  lightly  on  my 
arm,  and  endured  the  melting  danger  of  her  gaze. 

She  said,  while  the  smile  died  on  her  lips,  "I  jest  with  you, 
Jack.  But  you  are  dear  to  me." 

"Dear  as  any  trophy,"  said  I.  "No  woman  ever  willingly  lets 
any  victim  entirely  escape." 

"You  do  not  guess  what  you  could  do  with  me — if  you  would," 
she  said. 

"No.  But  I  guess  what  you  could  do  to  me,  again,  if  you  had 
an  opportunity." 

"Jack!"  she  sighed,  looking  up  at  me. 

But  the  gentle  protest  alarmed  me.  And  she  was  too  near  me; 
and  the  fresh  scent  of  her  hair  and  skin  were  troubling  me. 

And,  more  than  that,  there  persisted  a  dull  soreness  in  my 
breast, — something  that  had  hurt  me  unperceived — an  unease 
which  was  not  pain,  yet,  at  times,  seemed  to  start  a  faint,  sick 
throbbing  like  a  wound. 

Perhaps  I  assumed  that  it  came  from  some  old  memory  of  her 
unkindness;  I  do  not  remember  now,  only  that  I  seemed  to  have 
no  mind  to  stir  up  dying  embers.  And  so,  looked  at  her  without 
any  belief  in  my  gaze. 

There  was  a  silence,  then  a  bright  flush  stained  her  face,  and 
she  laughed,  but  as  though  unnerved,  and  drew  her  hand  from 
my  arm. 

"If  you  think  all  the  peril  between  us  twain  is  yours  alone, 
Jack  Drogue,"  she  said,  "you  are  a  very  dolt.  And  I  think  you 
are  one!" 

And  turned  her  back  and  walked  swiftly  into  the  house. 

I  took  my  rifle  from  where  it  stood  against  a  ver».nda  post, 
settled  my  war-belt,  with  its  sheathed  knife  and  natchet,  re- 
adjusted powder-horn  and  bullet  pouch,  and,  picking  up  my  cap 
of  silver  moleskin,  went  out  into  the  orchard. 

Behind  me  padded  my  Saguenay  in  his  new  paint,  his  hooped 


DEEPER  TROUBLE  155 

scalps  swinging  from  his  cincture,  and  the  old  trade-rifle  covered 
carefully  by  his  blanket,  except  the  battered  muzzle  which 
stuck  out. 

I  walked  leisurely;  my  heart  was  unsteady,  my  mind  confused, 
my  features,  unless  perhaps  expressionless,  were  very  likely  grim. 

I  went  straight  to  the  group  around  the  twisted  apple-tree, 
where  Penelope  sat  knitting,  and  politely  made  myself  a  part  of 
that  same  group,  giving  courteous  notice  by  my  attitude  and 
presence,  that  I,  also,  had  a  right  to  be  there  as  well  as  they. 

All  were  monstrous  civil;  some  offered  snuff;  some  a  pipe 
and  pouch;  and  a  friendly  captain  man  engaged  me  in  conversa- 
tion— gossip  of  Johnstown  and  the  Valley — so  that,  without  any 
awkwardness,  the  gay  and  general  chatter  around  the  girl  suf- 
fered but  a  moment's  pause. 

The  young  officer  who  had  writ  verses,  now  read  them  aloud 
amid  lively  approbation  and  some  sly  jesting: 

IN   PRAISE 

"Flavilla's  hair, 
Beyond  compare, 

Like  sunshine  brightens  all  the  earth! 
Old   Sol,  beware! 
She  cheats  you,  there, 
And  robs  your  rays  of  all  their  worth! 

"Impotent  blaze! 
I  shall  not  praise 
Your  brazen  ways, 
Nor  dare  compare 
Your   flaming  gaze 
To  those  sweet  rays 
Which  play  around  Flavilla's  hair. 

"For  lo,  behold! 
No  sunshine  bold 

Can  hope  to  gild  or  make  more  fair 
The  living  gold, 
Where,  fold  on  fold, 
In  glory  shines  Flavilla's  hair!" 

There  was  a  merry  tumult  of  praise  for  the  poet,  and  some 
rallied  him,  but  he  seemed  complacent  enough,  and  Penelope 
looked  shyly  at  him  over  lagging  needles, — a  smile  her  acknowledg- 
ment and  thanks. 


156  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

"Sir,"  says  a  cornet  of  horse,  in  helmet  and  jack-boots — though 
I  perceived  none  of  his  company  about,  and  wondered  where  he 
came  from, — "will  you  consent  to  entertain  our  merry  Council 
with  some  account  of  the  scout  which,  from  your  appearance, 
sir,  I  guess  you  have  but  recently  accomplished." 

To  this  stilted  and  somewhat  pompous  speech  I  inclined  my 
head  with  civility,  but  replied  that  I  did  not  yet  feel  at  liberty 
to  discuss  any  journey  I  may  have  accomplished  until  my  com- 
manding officer  gave  me  permission.  Which  mild  rebuke  turned 
young  Jack-boots  red,  and  raised  a  titter. 

An  officer  said:  "The  dry  blood  on  your  hunting  shirt,  sir,  and 
the  somewhat  amazing  appearance  of  your  tame  Indian,  who 
squats  yonder,  devouring  the  back  of  your  head  with  his  eyes, 
must  plead  excuse  for  our  natural  curiosity.  Also,  we  have  not 
yet  smelled  powder,  and  it  is  plain  that  you  have  had  your  nostrils 
full." 

I  laughed,  feeling  no  mirth,  however,  but  sensible  of  my  dull 
pain  and  my  restlessness. 

"Sir,"  said  I,  "if  I  have  smelled  gun-powder,  I  shall  know  that 
same  perfume  again;  and  if  I  have  not  yet  sniffed  it,  neverthe- 
less I  shall  know  it  when  I  come  to  scent  it.  So,  gentlemen,  I 
can  not  see  that  you  are  any  worse  off  in  experience  than  I." 

A  subaltern,  smiling,  ventured  to  ask  me  what  kind  of  Indian 
was  that  who  esquired  me. 

"Of  Algonquin  stock,"  said  I,  "but  speaks  an  odd  lingo,  partly 
Huron-Iroquois,  partly  the  Loup  tongue,  I  think.  He  is  a 
Saguenay." 

"One  of  those  fierce  wanderers  of  the  mountains,"  nodded  an 
older  officer.  "I  thought  they  were  not  to  be  tamed." 

"I  owned  a  tame  tree-cat  once,"  remarked  another  officer. 

My  friend,  Jack-boots,  now  pulls  out  a  bull's-eye  watch  with 
two  fobs,  and  tells  the  time  with  a  sort  of  sulky  satisfaction. 
For  many  of  the  company  arose,  and  made  their  several  and  gal- 
lant adieux  to  Penelope,  who  suffered  their  salute  on  one  little 
hand,  while  she  held  yarn  and  needles  in  t'other. 

But  when  half  the  plague  of  suitors  and  gallants  had  taken 
themselves  off  to  their  several  duties,  there  remained  still  too 
many  to  suit  young  Jack-boots.  Too  many  to  suit  me,  either ;  and 
scarce  knowing  what  I  did  or  why,  I  moved  forward  to  the  tree 
where  she  was  seated  on  a  low  swinging  limb. 

"Penelope,"  said  I,  "it  is  long  since  I  have  seen  you.  And 
if  these  gentlemen  will  understand  and  pardon  the  desire  of  an 


DEEPER  TROUBLE  157 

old  friend  to  speak  privately  with  you,  and  if  you,  also,  are  so 
inclined,  give  me  a  little  time  with  you  alone  before  I  leave." 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "I  am  so  inclined — if  it  seem  agreeable  to 
all." 

I  am  sure  it  was  not,  but  they  conducted  civilly  enough,  save 
young  Jack-boots,  who  got  redder  than  ever  and  spoke  not  a  word 
with  his  bow,  but  clanked  away  pouting. 

And  there  were  also  two  militia  officers,  wrapped  in  great  watch 
cloaks  over  their  Canajoharie  regimentals,  and  who  took  their 
leave  in  silence.  One  wore  boots,  the  other  black  spatter-dashes 
that  came  above  the  knee  in  French  fashion,  and  were  fastened 
under  it,  too,  with  leather  straps. 

Their  faces  were  averted  when  they  passed  me,  yet  something 
about  them  both  seemed  vaguely  familiar  to  me.  No  wonder,  either, 
for  I  should  know,  by  sight  at  least,  many  officers  in  our  Tryon 
militia. 

Whether  they  were  careless,  or  unmannerly  by  reason  of  taking 
offense  at  what  I  had  done,  I  could  not  guess. 

I  looked  after  them,  puzzled,  almost  sure  I  had  seen  them  both 
before;  but  where  I  could  not  recollect,  nor  what  their  names 
might  be. 

"Shall  we  stroll,  Penelope?"  I  said. 

"If  it  please  you,  sir." 

Sir  William  had  cut  the  alders  all  around  the  point,  and  a  pretty 
lawn  of  English  grass  spread  down  to  the  water  north  and  west, 
and  pleasant  shade  trees  grew  there. 

While  she  rolled  her  knitting  and  placed  it  in  her  silken  reti- 
cule, I,  glancing  around,  noticed  that  all  the  apple  bloom  had 
fallen,  and  the  tiny  green  fruit-buds  dotted  every  twig. 

Then,  as  she  was  ready,  and  stood  prettily  awaiting  me  in  her 
pink  chintz  gown,  and  her  kerchief  and  buckled  shoon,  I  gave 
her  my  hand  and  we  walked  slowly  across  the  grass  and  down 
to  the  water. 

Here  was  a  great  silvery  iron-wood  tree  a-growing  and  spread- 
ing pleasant  shade;  and  here  we  sat  us  down. 

But  now  that  I  had  got  this  maid  Penelope  away  from  the 
pest  of  suitors,  it  came  suddenly  to  me  that  my  pretenses  were 
false,  and  I  really  had  nothing  to  say  to  her  which  might  not 
be  discussed  in  company  with  others. 

This  knowledge  presently  embarrassed  me  to  the  point  of 
feeling  my  face  grow  hot.  But  when  I  ventured  to  glance  at  her 
*  she  smiled. 

"Have  you  been  in  battle?"  she  asked. 


158  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

"Yes." 

After  a  silence:  "I  am  most  happy  that  you  returned  in 
safety." 

"Did  you  ever — ever  think  of  me?"  I  asked. 

"Why,  yes,"  she  replied  in  surprise. 

"I  thought,"  said  I,  "that  being  occupied — and  so  greatly 
sought  after  by  so  many  gallants — that  you  might  easily  have 
forgotten  me." 

She  laughed  and  plucked  a  grass-blade. 

"I  did  not  forget  you,"  she  said. 

"That  is  amazing,"  said  I,  " — a  maid  so  run  after  and  so 
courted." 

She  plucked  another  blade  of  grass,  and  so  sat,  pulling  at  the 
tender  verdure,  her  head  bent  so  that  I  could  not  see  what  her 
eyes  were  thinking,  but  her  lips  seemed  graver. 

"Well,"  said  I,  "is  there  news  of  Mr.  Fonda?" 

"None,  sir." 

"Tell  me,"  said  I,  smiling,  "why,  when  I  speak,  do  you  answer 
ever  with  a  'sir'?" 

At  that  she  looked  up :  "Are  you  not  Lord  Stormont,  Mr. 
Drogue?"  she  asked  innocently. 

"Why,  no!  That  is,  nobody  believes  it  any  more  than  did 
the  Lords  in  their  House  so  many  years  ago.  Is  that  why  you 
sometimes  say  'my  lord,'  and  sometimes  call  me  'sir  ?' " 

"But  you  still  are  the  Laird  of  Northesk." 

"Lord !"  said  I,  laughing.  "Is  it  that  Scottish  title  bothers  you  ? 
Pay  it  no  attention  and  call  me  John  Drogue — or  John.  ...  Or 
Jack,  if  you  will.  .  .  .  Will  you  do  so  ?" 

"If  it — pleases  you." 

She  was  still  busy  with  the  grass,  and  I  watched  her,  waiting 
to  see  her  dark  eyes  lift  again — and  see  that  little  tremor  of  her 
lips  which  presaged  the  dawning  smile. 

It  dawned,  presently;  and  all  the  unrest  left  my  breast — all 
that  heavy  dullness  which  seemed  like  the  flitting  shadow  of  a  pain. 

"Tell  me,"  said  I,  "are  you  happy  ?" 

"I  am  contented.  I  love  my  Mistress  Swift.  I  love  and  pity 
Lady  Johnson.  .  .  .  Yes,  I  am  happy." 

"I  know  they  both  love  you,"  said  I.  "So  you  should  be  happy 
here.  .  .  .  And  admired  as  you  are  by  all  men.  .  .  ." 

Again  she  laughed  in  her  enchanting  little  way,  and  bent  her 
bright  head.  And,  presently: 

"John  Drogue?" 

"I  hear  you,  Penelope." 


DEEPER  TROUBLE  159 

"Do  you  "wish  warm  woolen  stockings  for  your  men?" 

"Why— yes." 

"I  sent  to  Caydutta  Lodge  for  the  garments.  They  are  in  the 
house.  You  shall  choose  for  yourself  and  your  men  before  the 
Continentals  take  their  share." 

I  was  touched,  and  thanked  her.  And  now,  it  being  near  the 
noon  hour,  we  walked  together  to  the  house. 

The  partition  which  Sir  John  had  made  for  a  gun-room,  and 
which  now  served  to  enclose  Penelope's  chamber,  was  all  hung 
with  stout  woolen  stockings  of  her  own  knitting;  and  others 
lay  on  her  trundle-bed.  So  I  admired  and  handled  and  praised 
these  sober  fruits  of  her  diligence  and  foresight,  and  we  corded 
up  some  dozen  pair  for  my  white  people;  and  I  stuffed  them  into 
my  soldier's  leather  sack. 

Then  I  took  her  hands  and  said  my  thanks;  and  she  looked  at 
me  and  answered,  "You  are  welcome,  John  Drogue." 

I  do  not  know  what  possessed  me  to  put  my  arm  around  her. 
She  flushed  deeply.  I  kissed  her;  and  it  went  to  my  head. 

The  girl  was  dumb  and  scarlet,  not  resisting,  nor  defending 
her  lips;  but  there  came  a  clatter  of  china  dishes,  and  I  released 
her  as  Flora  and  Colas  appeared  from  below,  with  dinner  smoking, 
and  clattering  platters. 

And  presently  Lady  Johnson's  door  opened,  and  she  stepped 
out  in  her  silk  levete,  followed  by  Claudia. 

"I  invited  no  one  else,"  said  Lady  Johnson,  " — if  that  suits 
you,  Jack." 

I  protested  that  it  suited  me,  and  that  I  desired  to  spend  my 
few  hours  from  duty  with  them  alone. 

As  we  were  seated,  I  ventured  a  side  glance  at  Penelope  and 
perceived  that  she  seemed  nothing  ruffled,  though  her  colour 
was  still  high.  For  she  gave  me  that  faint,  enchanting  smile 
that  now  began  to  send  a  thrill  through  me,  and  she  answered 
without  confusion  any  remarks  addressed  to  her. 

Remembering  my  Indian  outside,  I  told  Flora,  and  Colas  took 
food  to  him  on  the  veranda. 

And  so  we  spent  a  very  happy  hour  there — three  old  friends 
together  once  more,  and  a  young  girl  stranger  whom  we  loved 
already.  And  I  did  not  know  in  what  degree  I  loved  her,  but 
that  I  did  love  her  now  seemed  somewhat  clear  to  my  confused 
senses  and  excited  mind, — though  to  love,  I  knew,  was  one  thing, 
and  to  be  in  love  was  still  another.  Or  so  it  seemed  to  me. 

My  animation  was  presently  noticed  by  Claudia;  and  she 
rested  her  eyes  on  me.  For  I  talked  much  and  laughed  more, 


160  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

and  challenged  her  gay  conceits  with  a  wit  which  seemed  to  me 
not  wholly  contemptible. 

"One  might  think  you  had  been  drinking  of  good  news,"  quoth 
she;  "so  pray  you  share  the  draught,  Jack,  for  we  have  none  of 
our  own  to  quench  our  thirst." 

"Unless  none  be  good  news,  as  they  say,"  said  Lady  Johnson, 
wistfully. 

"News!"  said  I.  "Nenni!  But  the  sun  shines,  Claudia,  and 
life  is  young,  and  'tis  a  pretty  world  we  live  in  after  all." 

"If  you  admire  a  marsh,"  says  she,  "there's  a  world  o'  mud 
and  rushes  to  admire  out  yonder." 

"Or  if  you  admire  a  cabinful  o'  lonely  ladies,"  added  Lady 
Johnson,  "you  may  gaze  your  fill  upon  us." 

"I  should  never  be  done  or  have  my  fill  of  beauty  if  I  sat 
here  a  thousand  years,  Polly,"  said  I. 

"A  thousand  years  and  a  dead  fish  outshines  our  beauty," 
smiled  Lady  Johnson.  "If  you  truly  admire  our  beauty,  Jack, 
best  prove  it  now." 

"To  which  of  us  the  Golden  Apple?"  inquired  Claudia,  offering 
one  of  the  winter  russets  which  had  been  picked  at  the  Point. 

"Ho!"  said  I,  "you  think  to  perplex  and  frighten  me?  Non, 
pas!  Polly  Johnson  shall  not  have  it,  because,  if  she  ever  makes 
me  wise,  wisdom  is  its  own  reward  and  needs  no  other.  And  you 
shall  not  have  it,  Claudia!" 

"Why  not?" 

"Mere  beauty  cannot  claim  it." 

"Why  not?     Venus  received  the  apple  cast  by  Eris." 

"But  only  because  Venus  promised  Love!  Do  you  promise 
me  the  reward  of  the  shepherd?" 

"Myself?"  she  asked  impudently. 

"Venus,"  said  Lady  Johnson,  "made  that  personal  exception, 
and  so  must  you,  Claudia.  The  goddess  promised  beauty;  but 
not  herself." 

"Then,"  said  I,  "Claudia  has  nothing  to  offer  me.  And  so  I 
give  the  apple  to  Penelope!" 

She  refused  it,  shyly. 

"Industry  is  the  winner,"  said  I.  "Thrift  triumphs.  I  al- 
ready have  her  gift.  I  have  a  dozen  pair  of  woolen  stockings 
for  my  men,  knitted  by  this  fair  Penelope  of  today.  And,  as  she 
awaits  no  wandering  lord,  though  many  suitors  press  her,  then  she 
should  have  at  least  this  golden  apple  of  Eris  to  reward  her. 
And  so  she  shall." 

And  I  offered  it  again. 


DEEPER  TROUBLE  161 

"Take  it,  my  dear,"  said  Claudia,  laughing,  "for  this  young  man 
has  given  you  a  reason.  Pallas  offered  military  glory;  you  offer 
military  stockings!  What  chance  have  Hera  and  poor  Aphrodite 
in  such  a  contest?" 

We  all  were  laughing  while  the  cloth  was  cleared,  and  Flora 
brought  us  a  great  dish  of  wild  strawberries. 

These  we  sopped  in  our  wine  and  tasted  at  our  ease,  there  by 
the  open  windows,  where  a  soft  wind  blew  the  curtains  and  the 
far-spreading  azure  waters  sparkled  in  the  sun. 

How  far  away  seemed  death! 

I  looked  out  upon  the  mountains,  now  a  pale  cobalt  tint,  and 
their  peaks  all  denting  the  sky  like  blue  waves  on  Lake  Erie 
against  the  horizon. 

Low  over  the  Vlaie  Water  flapped  a  giant  heron,  which  alighted 
not  far  away  and  stood  like  a  sentry,  motionless  at  his  post. 

A  fresh,  wild  breath  of  blossoms  grew  upon  the  breeze — the 
enchanting  scent  of  pinxters.  From  the  mainland,  high  on  a 
sugar-maple's  spire,  came  the  sweet  calling  of  a  meadow-lark. 

Truly,  war  seemed  far  away;  and  death  farther  still  in  this 
dear  Northland  of  ours.  And  I  fell  a-thinking  there  that  if 
kings  could  only  see  this  land  on  such  a  day,  and  smell  the  pinx- 
ters, and  hear  the  sweetened  whistle  of  our  lark,  there  would  be 
no  war  here,  no  slavery,  no  strife  where  liberty  and  freedom  were 
the  very  essence  of  the  land  and  sky. 

My  Lady  Johnson  wished  to  rest;  and  there  was  a  romance  out 
of  France  awaiting  her  in  gilt  binding  in  her  chamber. 

She  went,  when  the  board  was  cleared,  linking  her  arm  in 
Claudia's. 

Penelope  took  up  her  knitting  with  a  faint  smile  at  me. 

"Will  you  tell  me  a  story  to  amuse  me,  sir?"  she  said  in  her 
shy  way. 

"You  shall  tell  me  one,"  said  I. 

"I?    What  story?" 

"Some  story  you  have  lived." 

"I  told  you  all." 

"No,"  said  I,  "not  any  story  concerning  this  very  pest  of  suit- 
ors which  plague  you — or,  if  not  you,  then  me! — as  the  suitors 
of  the  first  Penelope  plagued  Telemachus." 

Now  she  was  laughing,  and,  at  one  moment,  hid  her  face  in 
her  yarn,  still  laughing. 

"Does  this  plague  you,  John  Drogue?"  she  asked,  still  all  rosy 
in  her  mirth. 


162  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

"Well,"  said  I,  "they  all  seem  popinjays  to  me  in  their  blue 
and  gold  and  buff.  But  it  was  once  redcoats,  too,  at  Caugh- 
nawaga,  or  so  I  hear." 

"Oh.    Did  you  hear  that?" 

"I  did.     They  sat  like  flies  around  a  sap-pan." 

"Deary  me!"  she  exclaimed,  all  dimples,  "who  hath  gossiped  of 
me  at  Cayadutta  Lodge?" 

'Tenelope?" 

"I  am  attentive,  sir." 

"I  suppose  all  maids  enjoy  admiration." 

"I  suppose  so." 

"Hum!    And  do  you?" 

"La,  sir!    I  am  a  maid,  also." 

"And  enjoy  it?" 

"Yes,  sir.  ...  Do  not  you?" 

"What?" 

"Do  not  you  enjoy  admiration?  Is  admiration  displeasing  to 
young  men?" 

"Well — no,"  I  admitted.  "Only  it  is  well  to  be  armed  with 
experience — hum-hum! — and  discretion  when  one  encounters  the 
flattery  of  admiration." 

"Yes,  sir.  .  .  .  Are  you  so  armed,  Mr.  Drogue?" 

At  a  loss  to  answer,  her  question  being  unexpected — as  were 
many  of  her  questions — and  answers  also — I  finally  admitted  that 
flattery  was  a  subtle  foe  and  that  perhaps  experience  had  not 
wholly  armed  me  against  that  persuasive  enemy. 

"Nor  me,"  said  she,  with  serene  candour.  "And  I  fear  that 
I  lack  as  much  in  knowledge  and  experience  as  I  do  in  years, 
Mr.  Drogue.  For  I  think  no  evil,  nor  perhaps  even  recognize  it 
when  I  meet  it,  deeming  the  world  kind,  and  all  folk  unwilling 
to  do  me  a  wrong." 

"I — kissed  you." 

"Was  that  a  wrong  you  did  me?" 

"Have  not  others  kissed  you?"  said  I,  turning  red  and  feeling 
mean. 

But  she  laughed  outright,  telling  me  that  it  concerned  herself 
and  not  me  what  she  chose  to  let  her  lips  endure.  And  I  saw 
she  was  a  very  child,  all  unaccustomed,  yet  shyly  charmed  by 
flatteries,  and  already  vaguely  aware  that  men  found  her  at- 
tractive, and  that  she  also  was  not  disinclined  toward  men,  nor 
averse  to  their  admiration. 

"How  many  write  you  verses?"  I  asked  uneasily. 


DEEPER  TROUBLE  163 

"Gentlemen  are  prone  to  verses.  Is  it  unbecoming  of  me  to 
encourage  them  to  verse?" 

"Why,  no.  .  .  ." 

"Did  you  think  the  verses  fine  you  heard  in  the  orchard?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  I,  carelessly,  "but  smacking  strong  of  Major 
Andre's  verses  to  his  several  Sacharissas." 

"Oh.    I  thought  them  fine." 

"And  all  men  think  you  fine,  I  fear — from  that  soldier  who 
pricked  your  name  on  his  powder-horn  at  Mayfield  fort  to  Bully 
Jock  Gallopaway  of  the  Border  Horse  at  Caughnawaga,  and  our 
own  little  Jack-boots  in  the  orchard  yonder." 

"Only  Jack  Drogue  dissents,"  she  murmured,  bending  over  her 
knitting. 

At  that  I  caught  her  white  hand  and  kissed  ^ft;  and  she  blushed 
and  sat  smiling  in  absent  fashion  at  the  water,  while  I  retained  it. 

"You  use  me  sans  fa<jon,"  she  murmured  at  last.  "Do  you 
use  other  women  so?" 

Now,  I  had  used  some  few  maids  as  wilfully,  but  none  worse, 
yet  had  no  mind  to  admit  it,  nor  yet  to  lie. 

"You  ask  me  questions,"  said  I,  "but  answer  none  o'  mine." 

At  that  her  gay  smile  broke  again.  "What  a  very  boy,"  quoth 
she,  "to  be  Laird  o'  Northesk!  For  it  is  cat's-cradle  talk  be- 
tween us  two,  and  give  and  take  to  no  advancement.  Will  you 
tell  me,  my  lord,  if  it  gives  you  pleasure  to  touch  my  lips?" 

"Yes,"  said  I.    "Does  it  please  you,  too?" 

"I  wonder,"  says  she,  and  was  laughing  again  out  of  half-shy 
eyes  at  me. 

But,  ere  I  could  speak  again,  comes  an  express  a-galloping; 
and  we  saw  him  dismount  at  the  mainland  gate  and  come  swiftly 
across  the  orchard. 

"My  orders,"  said  I,  and  went  to  the  edge  of  the  veranda. 

The  letter  he  handed  me  was  from  Colonel  Dayton.  It  com- 
mended me,  enjoined  secrecy,  approved  my  Oneidas  and  my 
Saguenay,  but  warned  me  to  remain  discreetly  silent  concern- 
ing these  red  auxiliaries,  because  General  Schuyler  did  not  ap- 
prove our  employing  savages. 

Further,  he  explained,  several  full  companies  of  Rangers  had 
now  been  raised  and  were  properly  officered  and  distributed  for 
employment.  Therefore,  though  I  was  to  retain  my  commission, 
he  preferred  that  I  command  my  present  force  as  a  scout,  and 
not  attempt  to  recruit  a  Ranger  company. 

"For,"  said  he,  "we  have  great  need  of  such  a  scout  under  an 


164  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

officer  who,  like  yourself,  has  been  Brent- Meester  in  these  for- 
ests." 

However,  the  letter  went  on  to  say,  I  was  ordered  to  remain 
on  the  Sacandaga  trail  with  my  scout  of  ten  until  relieved,  and 
in  the  meanwhile  a  waggon  with  pay,  provisions,  and  suitable 
clothing  for  my  men,  and  additional  presents  for  my  Indians, 
was  already  on  its  way. 

I  read  the  letter  very  carefully,  then  took  my  tinder-box  and 
struck  fire  with  flint  and  steel,  blowing  the  moss  to  a  glow.  To 
this  I  touched  the  edge  of  my  letter,  and  breathed  on  the  coal 
till  the  paper  flamed,  crinkled,  fell  in  black  flakes,  and  was  de- 
stroyed. 

For  a  few  moments  I  stood  there,  considering,  then  dismissed 
the  express;  but  still  stood  a-thinking. 

And  it  seemed  to  me  that  there  was  indecision  in  my  com- 
mander's letter,  where  positive  and  virile  authority  should  have 
breathed  action  from  every  line. 

I  know,  now,  that  Colonel  Dayton  proved  to  be  a  most  ex- 
cellent oflicer  of  Engineers,  later  in  our  great  war  for  liberty. 
But  I  think  now,  and  thought  then,  that  he  lacked  that  energy 
and  genius  which  meets  with  vigour  such  a  situation  as  was  ours 
in  Tryon  County.  .  .  .  God  knows  to  what  sublime  heights  Willet 
soared  in  the  instant  agony  of  black  days  to  come !  .  .  .  And  com- 
parisons are  odious,  they  say.  ...  So  Colonel  Dayton  occupied 
Johnstown,  garrisoned  Summer  House  Point  and  Fish  House, 
and  was  greatly  embarrassed  what  to  do  with  his  prisoner,  Lady 
Johnson.  ...  A  fine,  brave,  loyal  officer — who  made  us  very 
good  forts. 

But,  oh,  for  the  dead  of  Tryon! — and  the  Valley  in  ashes  from 
end  to  end;  and  the  whole  sky  afire! — Lord!  Lord! — what  sights 
I  have  lived  to  see,  and  seeing,  lived  to  tell! 

My  memories  outstrip  my  quill. 

So,  when  I  came  out  of  my  revery,  I  turned  and  walked 
back  slowly  to  Penelope,  who  lifted  her  eyes  in  silence,  clasping 
her  fair  hands  over  idle  needles. 

"I  go  back  tonight,"  said  I. 

"To  the  forest?" 

"To  the  trail  by  the  Drowned  Lands." 

"Will  you  come  soon  again?" 

"Do  you  wish  it?" 


DEEPER  TROUBLE  165 

"Why,  yes,  John  Drogue,"  she  said;  and  I  saw  the  smile  glim- 
mer ere  it  dawned. 

And  now  comes  my  Lady  Johnson  and  her  Abagail  for  a  dish 
of  tea  on  the  veranda,  where  a  rustic  table  was  soon  spread  by 
Colas,  very  fine  in  his  scarlet  waistcoat  and  a  new  scratch-wig. 

Now,  to  tea,  comes  sauntering  our  precious  plague  of  suitors, 
one  by  one,  and  two  by  two,  from  the  camp  on  the  mainland. 
And  all  around  they  sit  them  down — with  ceremony,  it's  true, 
but  their  manners  found  no  favour  with  me  either.  And  I 
thought  of  Ulysses,  and  of  the  bow  that  none  save  he  could  bend. 

Well,  there  was  ceremony,  as  I  say,  and  some  subdued  gaiety, 
not  too  marked,  in  deference  to  Lady  Johnson's  political  con- 
dition. 

There  was  tea,  which  our  officers  and  I  forbore  to  taste,  mak- 
ing a  civil  jest  of  refusal.  But  there  was  an  eggnog  for  us,  and 
a  cooled  punch,  and  a  syllabub  and  cakes. 

Toward  sundown  a  young  officer  brought  his  fiddle  from  camp 
and  played  prettily  enough. 

Others  sang  in  acceptable  harmony  a  catch  or  two,  and  a  ro- 
mantic piece  for  concerted  voices,  which  I  secretly  thought  silly, 
yet  it  pleased  Lady  Johnson. 

Then,  at  Claudia's  request,  Penelope  sang  a  French  song  made 
in  olden  days.  And  I  thought  it  a  little  sad,  but  very  sweet  to 
hear  there  in  the  gathering  dusk. 

Other  officers  came  up  in  the  growing  darkness,  paid  their 
respects,  tasted  the  punch.  Candles  glimmered  in  the  Summer 
House.  Shadowy  forms  arrived  and  departed  or  wandered  over 
the  grassy  slope  along  the  water. 

I  missed  Claudia.  Later,  I  saw  Penelope  rise  and  give  her 
hand  to  a  man  who  came  stalking  up  in  a  watch  cloak;  and  pres- 
ently they  strolled  away  over  the  lawn,  with  her  arm  resting  on 
his. 

Major  Westfall  and  Lady  Johnson  were  conversing  gravely  on 
the  north  porch.  Others,  dimly  visible,  chatted  around  me  or 
moved  with  sudden  clank  of  scabbard  and  spur. 

Penelope  did  not  come  back.  At  first  I  waited  calmly  enough, 
then  with  increasing  impatience. 

Where  the  devil  had  she  gone  with  her  Captain  Spatter-dash? 
Claudia  I  presently  discovered  with  men  a-plenty  around  her; 
but  Penelope  was  not  visible.  This  troubled  me. 

So  I  went  down  to  the  orchard,  carelessly  sauntering,  and  not 
as  though  in  search  of  anybody.  And  so  encountered  Penelope. 

She  and  her  young  man  in  the  watch-cloak  passed  me,  moving 


166  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

slowly  under  the  trees.  He  wore  black  spatter-dashes.  And,  as 
we  saluted,  it  came  to  me  that  this  was  one  of  the  officers  from 
the  Canajoharie  Regiment;  but  in  the  starlight  I  knew  him  no 
better  than  I  had  by  day. 

"Strange,"  thought  I,  "that  young  Spatter-dashes  seems  so 
familiar  to  my  eyes,  yet  I  can  not  think  who  he  may  be." 

Then,  looking  after  him,  I  saw  his  comrade  walking  toward 
me  from  the  well,  and  with  him  was  Colas,  with  a  lantern,  which 
shined  dimly  on  both  their  faces. 

And,  suddenly:  "Why,  sir!"  I  blurted  out  in  astonishment, 
"are  you  not  Captain  Hare?" 

"No,  sir,"  said  he,  "my  name  is  Sims,  and  I  am  captain  in 
the  Canajoharie  militia."  And  he  bowed  civilly  and  walked  on, 
Colas  following  with  the  lantern,  leaving  me  there  perplexed 
and  still  standing  with  lifted  cap  in  hand. 

I  put  it  on,  pondered  for  a  space,  striving  to  rack  my  memory, 
for  that  man's  features  monstrously  resembled  Lieutenant  Hare's, 
as  I  saw  him  at  supper  that  last  night  at  Johnson  Hall,  when 
he  came  there  with  Hiokatoo  and  Stevie  Watts,  and  that  Cap- 
tain Moucher,  whom  I  knew  a  little  and  trusted  less,  for  all  his 
mealy  flatteries. 

Well,  then,  I  had  been  mistaken.  It  was  merely  a  slight  re- 
semblance, if  it  were  even  that.  I  had  not  thought  of  Hare 
since  that  evening,  and  when  I  saw  this  man  by  lantern  light, 
as  I  had  seen  him  by  candles,  why,  I  thought  he  seemed  like 
Hare.  .  .  .  That  was  all.  .  .  .  That  certainly  was  all  there  could 
be  to  it. 

Near  to  the  lilacs,  where  candle  light  fell  from  the  south  win- 
dow of  the  little  lodge,  I  stumbled  once  again  upon  Penelope. 
And  she  was  in  Spatter-dash's  arms! 

For  a  moment  I  stood  frozen.  Then  a  cold  rage  possessed  me, 
and  God  knows  what  a  fool  I  had  played,  but  suddenly  a  far 
whistle  sounded  from  the  orchard;  and  young  Spatter-dash  kisses 
her  and  starts  a-running  through  the  trees. 

He  had  not  noticed  me,  nor  discovered  my  presence  at  all; 
but  Penelope,  in  his  arms,  had  espied  me  over  his  shoulder;  and 
I  thought  she  seemed  not  only  flushed  but  frightened,  whether 
by  the  fellow's  rough  ardour  or  my  sudden  apparition  I  could 
not  guess. 

Still  cold  with  a  rage  for  which  there  was  no  sensible  warrant, 
I  walked  slowly  to  where  she  was  standing  and  fumbling  with 
her  lace  apron,  which  the  callow  fool  had  torn. 


DEEPER  TROUBLE  167 

"I  came  to  say  good-bye,"  said  I  in  even  tones. 

She  extended  her  hand;  I  laid  grim  and  icy  lips  to  it;  re- 
leased it. 

There  was  a  silence.  Then:  "I  did  not  wish  him  to  kiss  me," 
said  she  in  an  odd  voice,  yet  steady  enough. 

"Your  lips  are  your  own." 

"Yes.  .  .  .  They  were  yours,  too,  for  an  instaflrt,  Mr.  Drogue." 

"And  they  were  Spatter-dash's,  too,"  said  I,  almost  stifled  by 
my  jealous  rage.  "Whose  else  they  may  have  been  I  know  not, 
and  do  not  ask  you.  Good  night." 

She  said  nothing,  and  presently  picked  at  her  torn  apron. 

"Good  night,"  I  repeated. 

"Good  night,  sir." 

And  so  I  left  her,  choked  by  I  knew  not  what  new  and  fierce 
emotions — for  I  desired  to  seek  out  Spatter-dash,  Jack-boots, 
and  the  whole  cursed  crew  of  suitors,  and  presently  break  their 
assorted  necks.  For  now  I  was  aware  that  I  hated  these  popin- 
jays who  came  philandering  here,  as  deeply  as  I  hated  to  hear  of 
the  redcoat  gallants  at  Caughnawaga. 

Still  a-quiver  with  passion,  I  managed,  nevertheless,  to  make 
my  compliments  and  adieux  to  Lady  Johnson  and  to  Claudia — 
felt  their  warm  and  generous  clasp,  answered  gaily  I  know  not 
what,  saluted  all,  took  a  lantern  that  Flora  fetched,  and  went 
away  across  the  grass. 

A  shadow  detached  itself  from  darkness,  and  now -my  Saguenay 
was  padding  at  my  heels  once  more. 

As  we  two  came  to  the  mainland,  young  Spatter-dash  sud- 
denly crossed  the  road  in  front  of  my  lantern.  Good  God!  Was 
I  in  my  right  mind!  Was  it  Stephen  Watts  on  whose  white, 
boyish  face  my  lantern  glimmered  for  an  instant?  How  could 
it  be,  when  it  meant  death  to  catch  him  here?  .  .  .  Besides,  he 
was  in  Canada  with  Walter  Butler.  What  possessed  me,  that 
in  young  Spatter-dash  I  saw  resemblance  to  Stevie  Watts,  and 
in  another  respectable  militia  officer  a  countenance  resembling 
Lieutenant  Hare's? 

Sure  my  mind  was  obsessed  tonight  by  faces  seen  that  last 
unhappy  evening  at  the  Hall;  and  so  I  seemed  to  see  a  likeness 
to  those  men  in  every  face  I  met.  .  .  .  Something  had  sure  upset 
me.  .  .  .  Something,  too,  had  suddenly  awakened  in  me  new  and 
deep  emotions,  unsuspected,  unfamiliar,  and  unwelcome. 

And  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  knew  that  I  hated  men  be- 
cause a  woman  favoured  them. 


168  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

We  had  passed  through  the  Continental  camp,  my  Indian  and 
I,  and  were  now  going  down  among  the  bushes  to  the  Vlaie  Water, 
where  lay  our  canoe,  when,  of  a  sudden,  a  man  leaped  from  the 
reeds  and  started  to  run. 

Instantly  my  Indian  was  on  his  shoulders  like  a  tree-cat,  and 
down  went  both  on  the  soft  mud,  my  Saguenay  atop. 

I  cocked  my  rifle  and  poked  the  muzzle  into  the  prostrate 
stranger's  ribs,  resting  it  so  with  one  hand  while  I  shined  my 
lantern  on  his  upturned  face. 

He  wore  a  captain's  uniform  in  the  Canajoharie  Kegiment; 
and,  as  he  stared  up  at  me,  his  throat  still  clutched  by  the 
Saguenay,  I  found  I  was  gazing  upon  the  blotched  features  of 
Captain  Moucher! 

"Take  your  hands  from  his  neck-cloth,  cut  your  thrums,  and 
make  a  cord  to  tie  him,"  said  I,  in  the  Oneida  dialect.  "He  will 
not  move,"  I  added. 

It  took  the  Indian  a  little  while  to  accomplish  this.  I  held 
my  rifle  muzzle  to  Moucher's  ribs.  Until  his  arms  were  tied 
fast  behind  him,  he  had  not  spoken  to  me  nor  I  to  him;  but  now, 
as  he  rose  to  his  knees  from  the  mud  and  then  staggered  up- 
right, I  said  to  him: 

"This  is  like  to  be  a  tragic  business  for  you,  Captain  Moucher." 

He  winced  but  made  no  reply. 

"I  am  sorry  to  see  you  here,"  I  added. 

"Do  you  mean  to  murder  me?"  he  asked  hoarsely. 

"I  mean  to  question  you,"  said  I.  "Be  good  enough  to  step 
into  that  canoe." 

The  Indian  and  I  held  the  frail  craft.  Moucher  stepped  into 
it,  stumbling  in  the  darkness  and  trembling  all  over. 

"Sit  down  on  the  bottom,  midway  between  bow  and  stern!" 

He  took  the  place  as  I  directed. 

"Take  the  bow  paddle,"  said  I  to  Yellow  Leaf.  "Also  loosen 
your  knife." 

And  when  he  was  ready,  I  shoved  off,  straddled  the  stern,  and, 
kneeling,  took  the  broad  paddle. 

"Captain  Moucher,"  said  I,  "if  you  think  to  overturn  the  canoe, 
in  hope  of  escape,  my  Indian  will  kill  you  in  the  water." 

The  canoe  slid  out  into  darkness  under  the  high  stars. 


CHAPTER 

FIRELIGHT 

NOW,  no  sooner  did  I  reach  my  camp  with  my  prisoner  than 
my  people  came  crowding  around  us  from  their  watch-fire, 
which  hurned  dull  because  they  had  made  a  smudge  of  it,  black 
flies  being  lively  after  dark. 

I  drew  Nick  aside  and  told  him  all. 

"You  shall  take  Johnny  Silver,"  said  I,  "and  set  off  instantly 
for  Summer  House  and  the  Continental  camp.  You  shall  de- 
liver a  letter  to  Major  Westfall,  and  then  you  shall  search  with 
your  lanterns  every  face  you  encounter;  for  I  am  beginning  to 
believe  that  I  truly  saw  Stephen  Watts  and  Lieutenant  Hare  in 
the  orchard  at  Summer  House  Point  this  night.  And  if  I  did, 
then  they  are  a  pair  o'  damned  spies,  and  should  be  taken;  and 
suffer  as  such!" 

"My  God,"  says  he,  "Lady  Johnson's  brother!" 

"And  my  one-time  friend.  Is  it  not  horrible,  Nick?  But  any 
hesitation  makes  me  a  traitor  to  my  own  people." 

I  sat  down  in  the  dull  firelight,  a  block  of  wood  for  a  seat, 
fished  out  my  carnet,  wrote  a  line  to  Major  Westfall,  and  handed 
it  to  Nick. 

Silver  came  with  a  lantern  and  both  rifles. 

"Use  the  canoe,"  said  I,  "and  have  a  care  that  you  reply  clearly 
and  promptly  when  challenged,  for  yonder  Continentals  are  prone 
to  shoot." 

They  went  off  with  their  rifles  and  the  lantern,  and  I  waited 
until  I  heard  the  dip  of  paddles  in  the  dark. 

"Throw  a  dry  log  on  the  fire,  Godfrey,"  said  I.  And  to  Joe 
de  Golyer:  "Bring  that  prisoner  here." 

Joe  fetched  him,  and  he  stood  before  me,  arms  trussed  up  and 
head  hanging.  Tahioni  approached. 

"Untie  him,"  said  I. 

Whilst  they  were  fumbling  with  the  knotted  rope  of  thrums, 
I  said  to  Tahioni: 

"Luysnes  is  on  guard,  I  take  it?" 

"My  French  brother  watches." 

169 


170  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

"That  is  well.  Now,  tell  my  Oneida  brothers  that  here  we 
have  taken  a  very  dangerous  man;  and  that  if  he  makes  any 
move  to  escape  from  where  he  stands  heside  that  fire,  they  shall 
not  attempt  to  take  him  alive!" 

The  young  warrior  turned  calmly  and  translated.  I  saw  my 
Oneidas  loosen  their  knives  and  hatchets.  The  Saguenay  quietly 
strung  his  short,  heavy  bow,  and,  laying  an  arrow  across  the 
string,  notched  it. 

"Thiohero!"  I  called. 

"I  listen,  my  elder  brother,"  said  the  little  maid  of  Askalege. 

"You  shall  take  a  trade-rifle,  move  out  one  hundred  paces  to 
the  west,  and  halt  all  who  come.  And  fire  on  any  who  refuse  to 
halt." 

"I  listen,"  she  said  coolly. 

"You  shall  call  to  us  if  you  need  us." 

"I  continue  to  listen." 

"And  if  there  comes  a  wagon,  then  you  shall  take  the  horses 
by  the  head  and  lead  them  this  way  until  the  fire  shines  on  their 
heads.  Go,  little  sister." 

She  took  a  trade-rifle  from  the  stack,  primed  it  freshly,  and 
crossed  the  circle  on  light,  swift  feet. 

When  she  had  gone  into  the  darkness,  I  bade  de  Golyer  kick 
the  fire.  He  did  so  and  it  blazed  ruddy,  painting  in  sanguine 
colour  the  sombre,  unhealthy  visage  of  my  prisoner. 

"Search  him,"  said  I  briefly. 

Joe  and  my  Oneida  rummaged  him  to  the  buff.  It  was  in  his 
boots  they  discovered,  at  last,  a  sheaf  of  papers. 

I  could  not  read  what  was  writ,  for  the  writing  was  in  strange 
signs  and  figures;  so  presently  I  gave  over  trying  and  looked  up 
at  my  prisoner,  who  now  had  dressed  again. 

"You  are  Captain  Moucher?" 

He  denied  it  hoarsely;  but  I,  having  now  no  vestige  of  doubt 
concerning  this  miserable  man's  identity,  ignored  his  answer. 

"What  is  this  paper  which  was  taken  from  your  boot?" 

He  seemed  to  find  no  word  of  explanation,  but  breathed  harder 
and  watched  my  eyes. 

"Is  it  writ  in  a  military  cipher?" 

"I  do  not  know." 

"How  came  these  papers  in  your  boot?" 

He  stammered  out  that  somebody  who  had  cleansed  his  boots 
must  have  dropped  them  in,  and  that,  in  pulling  on  his  boots  that 
morning,  he  had  neither  seen  nor  felt  the  papers. 
"Where  did  you  dress  this  morning?" 


FIRELIGHT  171 

"At  the  Johnson  Arms  in  Johnstown." 

"You  wear  the  uniform  of  an  officer  in  the  Canajoharie  Regi- 
ment. Are  you  attached  to  that  regiment?" 

He  said  he  was;  then  contradicted  himself,  saying  he  had  been 
obliged  to  borrow  the  clothing  from  an  officer^ecause,  while 
bathing  in  the  Mohawk  at  Caughnawaga,  his  own  clothing  had 
been  swept  into  the  water  and  engulfed. 

Over  this  lie  he  was  slow  in  speech,  and  stammered  much, 
licking  his  dry  lips,  and  his  reddish,  furtive  eyes  travelling  about 
him  as  though  his  stealthy  mind  were  elsewhere. 

"Do  you  recollect  that  we  supped  in  company  at  Johnson  Hall 
—you  and  I — and  not  so  long  ago?"  I  demanded. 

He  had  no  remembrance. 

"And  Lieutenant  Hare  and  Captain  Watts  were  of  the  com- 
pany?" 

He  denied  acquaintance  with  these  gentlemen. 

"Or  Hiakatoo  ?" 

Had  never  heard  of  him. 

I  bade  Joe  lay  more  dry  wood  on  the  fire  and  kick  it  well,  for 
the  sphagnum  moss  still  dulled  it.  And,  when  it  flared  redly,  I 
rose  and  walked  close  to  the  prisoner. 

"What  are  you  doing  here  ?" 

He  had  merely  come  out  of  curiosity  to  see  the  camp  at  Sum- 
mer House. 

"In  disguise?" 

He  had  no  other  clothing,  and  meant  no  harm.  If  we  would 
let  him  go  he  would  engage  to  return  to  Albany  and  never  again 
to  wear  any  clothing  to  which  he  was  not  entitled. 

"Oh.  Who  was  your  mate  there  in  the  orchard,  who  also  wore 
the  Canajoharie  regimentals?"  I  demanded. 

An  acquaintance  made  en  passant,  nothing  more.  He  did  not 
even  know  his  name. 

"I'll  tell  you  his  name,"  said  I.  "That  man  was  Lieutenant 
Hare.  And  you  are  Captain  Moucher.  You  are  spies  in  our 
camp.  We've  taken  you;  we  ought  to  take  him  before  midnight. 

"The  paper  I  have  of  you  is  writ  in  British  military  cipher. 

"Now,  before  I  send  you  to  Colonel  Dayton,  with  my  report  of 
this  examination,  what  have  you  to  confess  that  I  might  add  to 
my  report,  in  extenuation?" 

He  made  no  answer.  Presently  a  fit  of  ague  seized  him,  so 
that  he  could  scarce  stand.  Then  he  reeled  sideways  and,  by 
accident,  set  foot  in  the  live  coals.  And  instantly  went  clean 
crazed  with  fright. 


172  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

As  the  Oneida  caught  him  by  the  shoulder,  to  steady  him,  he 
shrieked  and  cowered,  grasping  Joe's  arm  in  his  terror. 

"They  mean  to  murder  me!"  he  yelled.  "Keep  your  savages 
away,  I  tell  you!" — struggling  between  Tahioni  and  Joe — "I'll 
eay  what  you  wish,  if  they  won't  burn  me! " 

"Be  silent,"  I  said.  "We  mean  no  bodily  harm  to  you.  Com- 
pose yourself,  Captain  Moucher.  Do  you  take  me  for  a  monster 
to  threaten  you  with  torture?" 

But  the  awful  fear  of  fire  was  in  this  whimpering  wretch,  and 
I  was  ashamed  to  have  my  Oneidas  see  a  white  man  so  stricken 
With  cowardly  terrors. 

His  honour — what  there  was  of  it — he  sold  in  stammering 
phrases  to  buy  mercy  of  us;  and  I  listened  in  disgust  and  as- 
tonishment to  his  confession,  which  came  in  a  pell-mell  of  tum- 
bling words,  so  that  I  was  put  to  it  to  write  down  what  he  bab- 
bled. 

He  had  gone  on  his  knees,  held  back  from  my  feet  by  the 
Oneida;  and  his  poltroonery  so  sickened  me  that  I  could  scarce 
see  what  I  wrote  down  in  my  carnet. 

Every  word  was  a  betrayal  of  comrades;  every  whine  a  plea 
for  his  own  blotched  skin. 

To  save  his  neck — if  treachery  might  save  it — he  sold  his  King, 
his  cause,  his  comrades,  and  his  own  manhood. 

And  so  I  learned  of  him  that  Stevie  Watts,  disguised,  had 
been  that  night  at  Summer  House  with  Lieutenant  Hare;  that 
they  had  brought  news  to  Lady  Johnson  of  Sir  John's  safe  ar- 
rival in  Canada;  that  they  had  met  and  talked  to  Claudia  Swift; 
had  counted  our  men  and  made  a  very  accurate  report,  which  was 
writ  in  the  military  cipher  which  we  discovered,  and  a  copy  of 
which  Captain  Watts  also  carried  upon  his  proper  person. 

I  learned  that  Walter  Butler,  now  a  captain  of  Koyalist  Rang- 
ers, also  had  come  into  the  Valley  in  disguise,  for  the  purpose 
of  spying  and  of  raising  the  Tory  settlers  against  us. 

I  learned  that  Brant  and  Guy  Johnson  had  been  in  England, 
but  were  on  their  way  hither. 

I  learned  that  our  army  in  Canada,  decimated  by  battle,  by 
small-pox,  by  fever,  was  giving  ground  and  slowly  retreating  on 
Crown  Point;  and  that  Arnold  now  commanded  them. 

I  learned  that  we  were  to  be  invaded  from  the  west,  the  north, 
and  the  south  by  three  armies,  and  thousands  of  savages;  that 
Albany  must  burn,  and  Tryon  flame  from  Schenectady  to  Saint 
Sacrement.  .  .  And  I  wrote  all  down. 


FIRELIGHT  173 

"Is  there  more?"  I  asked,  looking  at  him  with  utter  loathing. 

"Howell's  house,"  he  muttered,  "the  log  house  of  John  Howell 
— tonight " 

"The  cabin  on  the  hard  ridge  yonder?"  ^ 

"Yes.  ...  A  plot  to  massacre  this  post.  .  .  .  They  meet  there." 

"Who  ?" 

"King's  people.  .  .  .  John  Howell,  Dries  Bowman,  the  Cadys, 
the  Helmers,  Girty,  Dawling,  Gene  Grinnis,  Baity  Weed " 

"Tonight!" 

"Yes." 

"Where  are  they  now?" 

"Hid  in  the  tamaracks — in  the  bush — God  knows  where! " 

"When  do  they  rendezvous?" 

"Toward  midnight," 

"At  John  Howell's  cabin?" 

He  nodded,  muttering. 

I  got  up,  took  him  by  the  arm  and  jerked  him  to  his  feet. 

"Read  this!"  I  said,  and  thrust  the  paper  of  cipher  writing 
under  his  nose. 

But  he  could  not,  saying  that  Steve  Watts  had  writ  it,  and 
that  he  was  to  carry  it  express  to  Oswego. 

Now,  whilst  I  stood  there,  striving  to  think  out  what  was  best 
to  do  and  how  most  prudently  to  conduct  in  the  instant  neces- 
sity confronting  me,  there  came  Thiohero's  sweet,  clear  whistle 
of  a  Canada  sparrow,  warning  us  to  look  sharp. 

Then  I  heard  the  snort  of  a  horse  and  the  rattle  and  bump  of 
a  wagon. 

"Tie  the  prisoner,"  said  I  to  Godfrey;  and  turned  to  see  the 
little  maid  of  Askalege,  her  rifle  shouldered,  leading  in  two 
horses,  behind  which  rumbled  the  wagon  carrying  our  pay,  food, 
arms,  and  clothing  sent  from  Johnstown. 

Two  armed  Continental  soldiers  sat  atop;  one,  a  corporal, 
driving,  t'other  on  guard. 

I  spoke  to  them;  called  my  Indians  to  unload  the  wagon,  and 
bade  Thiohero  sling  our  kettle  and  make  soupaan  for  us  all. 

The  Continentals  were  nothing  loth  to  eat  with  us.  Tahioni 
had  killed  some  wood-duck  and  three  partridges;  and  these,  with 
some  dozen  wild  pigeons  from  the  Stacking  Ridge,  furnished 
our  meat. 

I  heaped  a  wooden  platter  and  Godfrey  squatted  by  Captain 
Moucher  to  feed  him;  but  the  prisoner  refused  food  and  sat  with 
head  hanging  and  the  shivers  shaking  him  with  coward's  ague. 

When  the  meal  was  ended,  I  took  the  Continentals  aside,  gave 


174  THE  LITTLE  BED  FOOT 

the  Corporal  my  report  to  Colonel  Dayton,  and  charged  them 
to  deliver  my  prisoner  at  Johnstown  jail.  This  they  promised 
to  do;  and,  as  all  was  ready,  horses  fed,  and  a  long,  slow  jog 
to  Johnstown,  the  Corporal  climbed  to  his  seat  and  took  the  reins, 
and  the  other  soldier  aided  my  prisoner  to  mount. 

"Will  you  speak  for  me  at  the  court  martial  ?"  pleaded  Moucher, 
in  hoarse  and  dreadful  tones.  "Remember,  sir,  as  God  sees  me, 
my  confession  was  voluntary,  and  I  swear  by  my  mother's  mem- 
ory that  I  now  see  the  error  and  the  wickedness  of  my  ways ! 
Say  that  I  said  this — in  Christ's  name " 

The  Corporal  touched  his  cocked  hat,  swung  his  powerful 
horses.  I  am  sure  they  were  of  Sir  William's  stock  and  came 
from  the  Hall. 

"Mr.  Drogue!"  wailed  the  doomed  wretch,  "let  God  curse  me 
if  I  meant  any  harm " 

I  think  the  soldier  beside  him  must  have  placed  his  hand  over 
the  poor  wretch's  mouth,  for  I  heard  nothing  more  except  the 
rattle  of  wheels  and  the  corporal-driver  a-whistling  "The  Little 
Eed  Foot." 

In  my  absence  that  day  my  men  had  erected  an  open-face  hut 
for  our  stores. 

Here  we  set  lanterns,  and  here  divided  the  clothing,  including 
the  stockings  given  me  by  Penelope — which  I  distributed  with 
a  heavy  heart. 

There  was  laid  aside  new  buckskin  clothing  and  fresh  under- 
wear for  Luysnes,  for  Nick,  and  for  Johnny  Silver. 

Then  I  paid  the  men,  and  gave  a  cash  bonus  to  every  Indian, 
and  also  a  new  rifle  each, — not  the  trade-gun,  but  good  weapons 
carrying  an  ounce  ball. 

To  each,  also,  a  new  hatchet,  new  knife,  blanket,  leggins,  to- 
bacco, paints,  razor,  mirror,  ammunition,  and  a  flask  of  sweet- 
smelling  oil. 

I  think  I  never  have  seen  any  Iroquois  so  overjoyed  as  were 
mine.  And  as  for  my  Saguenay,  he  instantly  squatted  by  the 
fire,  fixed  his  mirror  on  a  crotched  stick,  and  fell  to  adorning 
himself  by  the  red  glow  of  the  coals. 

But  I  had  scant  leisure  for  watching  them,  where  they  moved 
about  laughing  and  gossiping  excitedly,  comparing  rifles,  trying 
locks  and  pans,  sorting  out  finery,  or  smearing  themselves  with 
igaudy  symbols. 

For,  not  a  hundred  rods  east  of  us,  across  the  ridge,  stood  that 
log  hut  of  Howell's;  and  the  owl-haunted  tamaracks  stretched 


FIRELIGHT  175 

away  behind  it  in  a  misty  wilderness.  And  in  that  swampy  for- 
est, at  this  very  moment,  were  hidden  desperate  men  who  de- 
signed our  deaths — men  I  knew — neighbors  at  Fonda's  Bush,  like 
the  Cadys,  Helmers,  and  Dries  Bowman! — men  who  lately  served 
in  my  militia  company,  like  Baity  Weed  and  Gene  Grinnis. 

Now,  as  I  paced  the  fire  circle,  listening  and  waiting  for  Nick 
and  Johnny  Silver,  I  could  scarce  credit  what  the  wretch, 
Moucher,  had  told  me,  so  horrid  bloody  did  their  enterprise  ap- 
pear to  me. 

That  they  should  strive  to  kill  us  when  facing  us  in  proper 
battle,  that  I  could  comprehend.  But  to  plan  in  the  darkness! 
— to  come  by  stealth  in  their  farmer's  clothes  to  surprise  us  in 
our  sleep ! — faugh ! 

"My  God,"  says  I  to  Godfrey,  who  paced  beside  me,  "why  have 
they  not  at  least  embodied  to  do  us  such  a  filthy  business?  And 
if  they  were  only  a  company  with  some  officer  to  make  them  re- 
spectable— militia,  minute  men,  rangers,  anything!" 

"They  be  bloody-minded  folk,"  said  he  grimly.  "No  coureur- 
du-bois  is  harder,  craftier,  or  more  heartless  than  John  Howell; 
no  forest  runner  more  merciless  than  Charlie  Cady.  These  be 
rough  and  bloody  men,  John.  And  I  think  we  are  like  to  have 
a  rude  fight  of  it  before  sun-up." 

I  thought  so  too,  but  did  not  admit  as  much.  I  had  ten  men. 
They  mustered  ten — if  Voucher's  accounts  were  true.  And  I  did 
not  doubt  it,  under  the  circumstances  of  his  pusillanimous  con- 
fession. 

The  River  Reed  came  to  me  to  show  me  her  necklace  of  col- 
oured glass.  And  I  drew  her  aside,  told  her  as  much  as  I  cared 
to,  and  bade  her  prepare  her  Oneidas  for  a  midnight  battle. 

At  that  moment  I  heard  the  Canada  sparrow.  Thiohero  an- 
swered, sweet  and  clear.  A  few  seconds  later  Nick  and  Silver 
came  in,  carrying  the  canoe  paddles. 

"They've  gone,"  said  Nick,  with  an  oath.  "Two  mounted  men 
and  a  led  horse  rode  toward  Johnstown  two  hours  since.  They 
wore  Canajoharie  regimentals.  Major  Westfall  sent  a  dozen  rid- 
ers after  'em;  but  men  who  came  so  boldly  to  spy  us  out  are  like 
to  get  away  as  boldly,  too." 

He  plucked  my  arm  and  I  stepped  apart  with  him. 

"Westf all's  in  his  dotage;  Dayton  is  too  slow.  Why  don't 
they  send  up  Willett  or  Herkimer?" 

"I   don't  know,"   said  I,   troubled. 

*     "Well,"  says  Nick,  "it's  clear  that  Stevie  Watts  was  there  and 
has  spoken  with  Lady  Johnson.     But  what  more  is  to  be  done? 


176  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

She's  our  prisoner.  I  wish,  to  God  they'd  sent  her  to  Albany  or 
New  York,  where  she  could  contrive  no  mischief.  And  that  other 
lady,  too.  Lord!  but  Major  Westfall  is  in  a  pother!  And  I 
wager  Colonel  Dayton  will  be  in  another,  and  at  his  wit's  ends." 

The  business  distressed  me  beyond  measure,  and  I  remained 
silent. 

"By  the  way,"  he  added,  "your  yellow-haired  inamorata  sends 
you  a  billet-doux.  Here  it  is." 

I  took  the  bit  of  folded  paper,  stepped  aside  and  read  it  by 
the  firelight: 

"Sir: 

"I  venture  to  entertain  a  hope  that  some  day  it  may  please  you 
to  converse  again  with  one  whose  offense — if  any — remains  a 
mystery  to  her  still.  P.  G." 

I  read  it  again,  then  crumpled  it  and  dropped  it  on  the  coals. 
I  had  seen  Steve  Watts  kiss  her.  That  was  enough. 

"There's  a  devil's  nest  of  Tories  gathering  in  Howell's  house 
tonight  to  cut  our  throats,"  said  I  coldly.  "Should  we  take  them 
with  ten  men,  or  call  in  the  Continentals?" 

"Who  be  they?"  asked  Nick,  astounded. 

"The  old  pack — Cadys,  Helmers,  Bowman,  Weed,  Grinnis. 
They  are  ten  rifles." 

He  got  very  red. 

"This  is  a  domestic  business,"  said  I.  "Shall  we  wash  our 
bloody  linen  for  the  world  to  see  what  filth  chokes  Fonda's  Bush  ?" 

"No,"  said  he,  slowly,  with  that  faint  flare  in  his  eyes  I  ha<^ 
seen  at  times,  "let  us  clean  our  own  house  o'  vermin,  and  make 
no  brag  of  what  is  only  our  proper  shame." 


CHAPTER   XIX 

OUT   OF   THE  NORTH 

IT  lacked  still  an  hour  to  midnight,  which  time  I  had  set  for 
our  advance  upon  John  Howell's  house,  and  my  Oneidas  had 
not  yet  done  painting,  when  Johnny  Silver,  who  was  on  guard, 
whistled  from  his  post,  and  I  ran  thither  with  Nick. 

A  man  in  leather  was  coming  in  through  the  clievaux-de-frise, 
and  Johnny  dropped  a  tamarack  log  across  the  ditch  for  him, 
over  which  he  ran  like  a  tree-martin,  and  so  climbed  up  into 
the  flare  of  Nick's  lantern. 

The  man  in  forest  runner's  dress  was  Dave  Ellerson,  known 
to  us  all  as  a  good  neighbor  and  a  staunch  Whig;  but  we  scarce 
recognized  him  in  his  stringy  buckskins  and  coon-skin  cap,  with 
the  ringed  tail  a-bobbing. 

On  his  hunting  shirt  there  was  a  singular  device  of  letters 
sewed  there  in  white  cloth,  which  composed  the  stirring  phrase, 
"Liberty  or  Death."  And  we  knew  immediately  that  he  had  he- 
come  a  soldier  in  the  llth  Virginia  Regiment,  which  is  called 
Morgan's  Rifles. 

He  seemed  to  have  travelled  far,  though  light,  for  he  carried 
only  rifle  and  knife,  ammunition,  and  a  small  sack  which  flapped 
flat  and  empty;  but  his  manner  was  lively  and  his  merry  gaze 
<clear  and  untroubled  as  we  grasped  his  powerful  hands. 

"Why,  Dave!"  said  I,  "how  come  you  here,  out  o'  the  North?" 

"I  travel  express  from  Arnold  to  Schuyler,"  said  he.  "Have 
you  a  gill  of  rum,  John?" 

Johnny  Silver  had  not  drunk  his  gill,  and  poured  it  into  Dave's 
pannikin. 

Down  it  went,  and  he  smacked  his  lips.  Then  we  took  him 
back  to  the  fire,  where  the  Oneidas  were  still  a-painting,  and 
made  him  eat  and  drink  and  dry  him  by  the  flames. 

"Is  there  a  horse  to  be  had  at  Summer  House?"  he  demanded, 
his  mouth  full  of  parched  corn. 

"Surely,"  said  I.  And  asked  him  news  of  the  North,  if  he 
were  at  liberty  to  give  us  any  account. 

177 


178  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

"The  news  I  can  not  give  you  is  what  I  shall  not,"  said  he, 
laughing.  "But  there's  plenty  besides,  and  damned  bad." 

"Bad?" 

"Monstrous  bad,  John.  For  on  my  forest-running  south  from 
Chambly,  I  saw  Sir  John  and  his  crew  as  they  gained  the  Can- 
adas!  They  seemed  near  dead,  too,  but  they  were  full  three 
hundred,  and  I  but  one,  so  I  did  not  tarry  to  mark  'em  with  a 
stealthy  bullet,  but  pulled  foot  for  Saint  Sacrement." 

He  grinned,  bit  a  morsel  from  a  cold  pigeon,  and  sat  chewing 
it  reflectively  and  watching  the  Indians  at  their  painting. 

"You  know  what  is  passing  in  Canada?"  he  demanded  abruptly. 

"Nothing  definite,"  said  I. 

"Listen,  then.  We  had  taken  Chambly,  Montreal,  and  St. 
John's.  Arnold  lay  before  Quebec.  Sullivan  commanded  us. 
Six  weeks  ago  he  sent  Hazen's  regiment  to  Arnold.  Then  the 
Canadians  and  Indians  struck  us  at  the  Cedars,  and  we  lost  five 
hundred  men  before  we  were  out  of  it." 

"What  was  the  reason  for  such  disaster?"  I  demanded,  turning 
hot  with  wrath. 

"Cowardice  and  smallpox,"  said  he  carelessly.  "They  were  new 
troops  sent  up  to  reinforce  us,  and  their  general,  Thomas,  died 
o'  the  pox. 

"And  atop  of  that  comes  news  of  British  transports  in  the 
St.  Lawrence,  and  of  British  regulars  and  Hessians. 

"So  Sullivan  sends  the  Pennsylvania  Line  to  strike  'em.  St. 
Clair  marches,  Wayne  marches,  Irving  follows  with  his  regi- 
ment. Lord,  how  they  were  peppered,  the  Pennsylvania  Line! 
And  Thompson  was  taken,  and  Colonel  Irving,  and  they  wounded 
Anthony  Wayne;  and  the  Line  ran!" 

"Ran!" 

"By  God,  yes.  And  our  poor  little  Northern  Army  is  on  the 
run  today,  with  thirteen  thousand  British  on  their  heels. 

"They  drove  us  out  o'  Chambly.  They  took  the  Cedars.  Mon- 
treal fell.  St.  John's  followed.  Quebec  is  freed.  We're  clean 
kicked  out  o'  Canada,  and  marching  up  Lake  Champlain,  our  rear 
in  touch  with  the  redcoats. 

<cli  we  stand  and  face  about  at  Crown  Point,  we  shall  do  more 
than  I  hope  for. 

"Thomas  is  dead,  Thompson  and  Irving  taken,  Arnold  and 
Wayne  wounded,  the  army  a  skeleton,  what  with  losses  by  death, 
wounds,  disease,  and  in  prisoners. 

"Had  not  Arnold  broke  into  the  Montreal  shops  and  taken 
food  and  woolen  clothing,  I  think  we  had  been  naked  now." 


OUT  OF  THE  NORTH  179 

"Good  heavens!"  said  I,  burning  with  mortification,  "I  had 
not  heard  of  such  a  rout !" 

"Oh,  it  was  no  rout,  John,"  said  he  carelessly.  "Sullivan 
marched  us  out  of  that  hell-hole  in  good  ordergrwhatever  John 
Adams  chooses  to  say  about  our  army." 

"What  does  John  Adams  say?" 

"Why,  he  says  we  are  disgraced,  defeated,  dispirited,  discon- 
tented, undisciplined,  diseased,  eaten  up  with  vermin." 

"My  God!"   exclaimed  Nick. 

"It's  true  enough,"  said  Dave,  coolly.  "And  when  John  Adams 
also  adds  that  we  have  no  clothing,  no  beds,  no  blankets,  no 
medicines,  and  only  salt  pork  and  flour  to  eat  and  little  o'  these, 
why,  he's  right,  too.  Why  not  admit  truth?  Does  it  help  to 
conceal  it  ?  Nenni,  lads !  It  is  best  always  to  face  it  and  en- 
deavour to  turn  into  a  falsehood  tomorrow  what  is  disgrace- 
fully true  today. 

"So  when  I  tell  you  that  in  three  months  our  Northern  Army 
has  lost  five  thousand  men  by  smallpox,  camp  fever,  bullets,  and 
privation — that  out  of  five  thousand  who  remain,  two  thousand 
are  sick,  why,  it's  the  plain  and  damnable  truth. 

"But  any  soldier  who  loses  sleep  or  appetite  over  such  cursed 
news  should  be  run  through  with  a  bayonet,  for  he's  a  rabbit  and 
no  man!" 

After  a  silence:     "Who  commands  them  now?"  I  asked. 

"Gates  is  to  take  them  over  at  Crown  Point,  I  hear." 

This  news  chilled  me,  for  Schuyler  should  have  commanded. 
But  the  damned  Yankees,  plotting  their  petty  New  England  plots 
to  discredit  our  dear  General,  had  plainly  hoodwinked  Congress; 
and  now  our  generous  and  noble  Schuyler  had  again  fallen  a 
victim  to  nutmeg  jealousy  and  cunning. 

"Well,"  said  I,  "God  help  us  all  in  Tryon,  now;  for  a  vain  ass 
is  in  the  saddle,  and  the  counsel  of  the  brave  and  wise  remains 
unheeded.  Will  Guy  Carleton  drive  us  south  of  Crown  Point?" 

"I  think  so,"  said  Ellerson,  carelessly. 

"Then  the  war  will  come  among  us  here  in  Tryon!" 

"Straight  as  a  storm  from  the  North,  John." 

"When?" 

"Oh,  that?  God  knows.  We  shall  hold  the  lakes  as  long  as 
«ve  can.  But  unless  we  are  reinforced  by  Continentals — unless 
every  Colony  sends  us  a  regiment  of  their  Lines — we  can  not 
hope  to  hold  Crown  Point,  and  that's  sure  as  shooting  and  plain 
as  preaching." 

"Very  well,"  said  I  between  clenched  teeth,  "then  we  here  in 


180  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

Tryon  had  best  go  about  the  purging  of  that  same  county,  and 
physic  this  district  against  a  dose  o'  redcoats." 

Ellerson  laughed  and  rose  with  the  lithe  ease  of  a  panther. 

"I  should  be  on  my  way  to  Albany,"  says  he.  "You  tell  me 
there  are  horses  at  the  Summer  House,  John?" 

"Certainly." 

We  shook  hands. 

"You  find  Morgan's  agreeable?"  inquired  Nick. 

"A  grand  corps,  lad!  Tim  Murphy  is  my  mate.  And  I  think 
there's  not  a  rifleman  among  us  who  can  not  shoot  the  whiskers 
off  a  porcupine  at  a  hundred  yards."  And  to  me,  with  a  nod 
toward  my  Oneidas:  "They  are  painting.  Do  you  march  to- 
night, John?" 

"A   matter   of   cleaning  out  a  Tory  nest  yonder,"   said  I. 

"A  filthy  business  and  not  war,"  quoth  he.  "Well,  God  be 
with  all  friends  to  liberty,  for  all  hell  is  rising  up  against  us. 
A  thousand  Indians  are  stripped  for  battle  on  this  frontier — 
and  the  tall  ships  never  cease  arriving  crammed  with  redcoats 
and  Germans. 

"So  we  should  all  do  our  duty  now,  whether  that  same  duty 
lie  in  emptying  barrack  slops,  or  in  cleaning  out  a  Tory  nest,  or 
in  marching  to  drum  and  fife,  or  guarding  the  still  places  of  the 
wilderness — it's  all  one  business,  John." 

Again  we  shook  hands  all  around,  then,  waving  aside  Joe  de 
Golyer  and  his  proffered  lantern,  the  celebrated  rifleman  passed 
lightly  into  the  shadows. 

"Yonder  goes  the  best  shot  in  the  North,"  said  Nick. 

"Saving  only  yourself  and  Jack  Mount  and  Tim  Murphy,"  re- 
marked Godfrey  Shew. 

"As  for  the  whiskers  of  a  porcupine,"  quoth  Nick,  with  the 
wild  flare  a-glimmering  in  his  eyes,  "why,  I  have  never  tried 
such  a  target.  But  I  should  pick  any  button  on  a  red  coat  at 
a  hundred  yards — that  is,  if  I  cast  and  pare  my  own  bullet,  and 
load  in  my  own  fashion." 

Silver  swore  that  any  rifle  among  us  white  men  should  shave 
an  otter  of  his  whiskers,  as  a  barber  trims  a  Hessian. 

"Sacre  garce!"  cried  he,  "why  should  we  miss — we  coureurs- 
du-bois,  who  have  learn  to  shoot  by  ze  hardes'  of  all  drill-mas- 
ters— a  empty  belly!" 

"We  must  not  miss  at  Howell's  house,"  said  I,  counting  my 
people  at  a  glance. 

The  Saguenay,  ghastly  in  scarlet  and  white,  came  and  placed 
himself  behind  me. 


OUT  OF  THE  NORTH  181 

All  the  Oneidas  were  naked,  painted  from  lock  to  ankle  in 
t?rrific  symbols. 

Thiohero  was  still  oiling  her  supple,  boyish  body  when  I  started 
a  brief  description  of  the  part  each  one  of  us  wfcS  to  act,  speak- 
ing in  the  Oneida  dialect  and  in  English. 

"Take  these  bloody  men  alive,"  I  added,  "if  it  can  be  done. 
But  if  it  can  not,  then  slay  them.  For  every  one  of  these  that 
escapes  tonight  shall  return  one  day  with  a  swarm  of  hornets 
to  sting  us  all  to  death  in  County  Tryon!  .  .  .  Ar<s  you  ready 
for  the  command?" 

"Ready,  John,"  says  Nick. 

"March!" 

At  midnight  we  had  surrounded  Howell's  house,  save  only  the 
«ast  approach,  which  we  still  left  open  for  tardy  skulkers. 

A  shadowy  form  or  two  slinking  out  from  the  tamaracks,  their 
guns  trailing,  passed  along  the  hard  ridge,  bent  nearly  double 
to  avoid  observation. 

We  could  not  recognize  them,  for  they  were  very  shadows, 
vague  as  frost-driven  woodcock  speeding  at  dusk  to  a  sheltered 
swamp. 

But,  as  they  arrived,  singly  and  in  little  groups,  such  a  silent 
rage  possessed  me  that  I  could  scarce  control  my  rifle,  which 
quivered  to  take  toll  of  these  old  neighbors  who  were  returning 
by  stealth  at  night  to  murder  us  in  our  beds. 

The  Saguenay  lay  in  the  wild  grasses  on  my  left;  the  little 
maid  of  Askalege,  in  her  naked  paint,  lay  on  my  right  hand. 
Her  forefinger  caressed  the  trigger  of  her  new  rifle;  the  stock 
lay  close  to  her  cheek.  And  I  could  hear  her  singing  her  Karenna 
in  a  mouse's  whisper  to  herself: 

"Listen,  John  Drogue,* 
Though  we  all  die, 
You  shall   survive! 
Listen,    John    Drogue, 
This  will  happen, 
And  it  is  well, 
Because  I  love  you. 

*  The  Karenna  of  Thiohero 

Yi-ya-thon-dek,  John  Drogue, 

Da-ed-e-wenh-he-l, 

Engh-si-tsko-dak-i ! 

Yi-ya-thon-dek,  John  Drogue, 

Nenne-a-wenni 

Yo-ya-neri 

Kenonwes ! 


182  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

"Why  do  I  love  you? 
Because  you  are  a  boy-chief, 
And  we  are  both  young, 
Thou  and  I. 
Why  do  I  love  you? 
Because  you  are  my  elder  brother, 
And  you   speak  to  the  Oneidaa 
Very  gently. 

"I  am  a  prophetess; 
I  see  events  beforehand; 
This  is  my  Karenna: 
Though  we  all  die  tonight, 
You   shall   survive  in   Scarlet: 
And  this  is  well, 
Because  I  love  you." 

So,  crooning  her  prophecy,  she  lay  flat  in  the  wild  grasses, 
cuddling  the  rifle-stock  close  to  her  shoulder;  and  her  song's  low 
cadence  was  like  the  burden  of  some  cricket  amid  the  herbage. 

"Tharon  alone  knows  all,"  I  breathed  in  her  ear. 

"Neah!"  she  murmured;  and  touched  her  cheek  against  mine. 

"Only  God  knows  who  shall  survive  tonight,"  I  insisted. 

"Onhteh.  Ra-ko-wan-enh,"  *  she  murmured.  "But  I  have  seen 
you,  niare,^  through  a  mist,  coming  from  this  place,  O-ne-kwen- 
da-ri-en4  And  dead  bodies  lay  about.  Do  you  believe  me?" 

I  made  no  reply  but  lay  motionless,  watching  the  tamaracks, 
ghostly  in  their  cerements  of  silver  fog.  And  I  heard,  through 
the  low  rhythm  of  her  song,  owls  howling  far  away  amid  those 
spectral  wastes,  and  saw  the  Oneida  Dancers,§  very  small  and 
pale  above  the  void. 

I  stared  with  fierce  satisfaction  at  Howell's  house.  There  was 
no  gleam  of  light  visible  behind  the  closed  shutters;  but  I  al- 
ready had  counted  nine  men  who  came  creeping  to  that  silent 
rendezvous.  And  now  there  arrived  the  tenth  man,  running  and 
stooping  low;  and  went  in  by  the  east  side  of  the  house. 

I  waited  a  full  minute  longer,  then  whistled  the  whitethroat's 
call. 

"ISTowI"  said  I  to  Thiohero;  and  we  rose  and  walked  forward 
through  the  light  mist  which  lay  knee-deep  over  the  ground. 

*  Perhaps  !     He  is  Chief. 
t  Beforehand. 

t  Literally,  in  scarlet  blood. 
§  The  Pleiades. 


OUT  OF  THE  NORTH  183 

We  had  not  advanced  ten  paces  when  three  men,  whom  I  had 
not  perceived,  rose  up  on  the  ridge  to  our  right. 

One  of  these  shouted  and  fired  a  gun,  and  all  three  dropped 
flat  again  before  we  could  realize  what  they  had  been  about. 

But  already,  out  of  that  shadowy  house,  armeS  men  swarmed 
like  black  hornets  from  their  nest,  and  we  ran  to  cut  them  from 
the  tamaracks,  but  could  not  mark  their  flight  in  the  so  great 
darkness. 

Then  Nick  Stoner  struck  flint,  and  dropped  his  tinder  upon 
the  remnants  of  a  hay-stack,  where  wisps  of  last  year's  marsh 
grass  still  littered  the  rick. 

In  the  smoky  glow  which  grew  I  saw  that  great  villain,  Simon 
Girty,  fire  his  gun  at  us,  then  turn  and  run  toward  the  water; 
and  Dries  Bowman  took  after  him,  shouting  in  his  fear. 

Very  carefully  I  fired  at  Girty,  but  he  was  not  scotched,  and 
was  lost  in  the  dark  with  Dries. 

Then,  in  the  increasing  glow  of  the  marsh-hay  afire,  I  saw 
and  recognized  Elias  Cady,  and  his  venomous  son,  Charlie;  and 
called  loudly  upon  them  to  halt. 

But  they  plunged  into  the  shore  reeds;  and  John  and  Phil 
Helmer  at  their  heels;  and  we  fired  our  guns  into  the  dark, 
but  could  not  stop  them  or  again  even  hope  to  glimpse  them  in 
their  flight. 

But  the  Oneidas  had  now  arrived  between  the  tamaracks  and 
the  log  house,  and  my  Rangers  were  swiftly  closing  in  on  the 
west  and  south,  when  suddenly  a  couple  of  loud  musket  shots  came 
from  the  crescents  in  the  bolted  shutters,  hiding  the  west  window 
in  a  double  cloud  of  smoke. 

I  called  out,  "Halt!"  to  my  people,  for  it  was  death  to  cross 
that  circle  of  light  ahead  while  the  marsh-hay  burned. 

There  were  at  least  five  men  now  barricaded  in  Howell's  house. 
I  called  to  Tahioni,  the  Wolf,  and  he  came  crouching  and  all 
trembling  with  excitement  and  impatience,  like  a  fierce  hound 
restrained. 

"Take  your  people,"  said  I,  "and  follow  those  dirty  cowards 
who  are  fleeing  toward  the  tamaracks." 

Instantly  his  terrific  panther-cry  shattered  the  silence,  and 
the  Oneidas'  wild  answer  to  his  slogan  hung  quavering  over  the 
Drowned  Lands  like  the  melancholy  pulsations  of  a  bell. 

The  hay-rick  burned  less  brightly  now.  I  crept  out  to  the 
dark  edge  of  the  wavering  glare  and  called  across  to  those  in 
*l»e  log-house: 

^If  you  will  surrender  I  promise  to  send  you  to  Johnstown  and 


184  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

let  a  court  judge  you !  If  you  refuse,  we  shall  take  you  by  storm, 
try  you  on  the  spot,  and  execute  sentence  upon  you  in  that 
house!  I  allow  you  five  minutes!" 

At  that,  two  of  them  fired  in  the  direction  from  whence  came 
my  voice;  and  I  heard  their  bullets  passing,  aimed  too  high. 

Then  John  Howell's  voice  bawls  out,  "I  know  you,  Drogue;  and 
so  help  me  God,  I  shall  cut  your  throat  before  this  business 
ends! — you  dirty  renegade  and  traitor  to  your  King!" 

Such  a  rage  possessed  me  that  I  scarce  knew  what  I  was  about, 
and  I  ran  across  the  grass  to  the  bolted  door  of  the  house,  and 
fell  to  slashing  at  it  with  my  hatchet  like  a  madman. 

They  were  firing  now  so  rapidly  that  the  smoke  of  their  guns 
made  a  choking  fog  about  the  house;  but  the  log  cabin  had  no 
overhang,  not  being  built  for  defense,  and  so  they  over-shot  me 
whilst  my  hatchet  battered  splinters  from  the  door  and  shook  it 
almost  from  its  hinges. 

Some  one  was  coughing  in  the  thick,  rifle-fog  near  me,  and 
presently  I  heard  Nick  swearing  and  hammering  at  the  door 
with  his  gun  butt. 

The  French  trappers,  not  so  rash  as  we,  lay  close  in  the  dark- 
ness, shooting  steadily  into  the  shutters  at  short  range. 

Shutters  and  door,  though  splintering,  held;  the  defenders 
fired  at  my  men's  rifle-flashes,  or  strove  to  shoot  at  Nick  and 
me,  where  we  crouched  low  in  the  sheltered  doorway;  but  they 
could  not  sufficiently  depress  the  muzzles  of  their  guns  to  hit  us. 

Suddenly,  from  out  of  the  night,  came  a  fire-arrow,  whistling, 
with  dry  moss  all  aflame,  and  lodged  on  the  roof  of  Howell's 
house. 

Quoth  Nick:  "Your  Tree-eater  is  in  action,  John.  God  send 
that  the  fire  catch !" 

From  the  darkness,  Silver  called  out  to  me  that  the  marsh- 
hay  had  nearly  burned  out,  and  what  were  he  and  Joe  to  do? 
Then  came  a-whizzing  another  fire-arrowi,  and  anotheir,  but 
whether  the  dew  was  too  heavy  on  the  roof  or  the  moss  too  damp, 
I  do  not  know;  only  that  when  at  length  the  roof  caught  fire,  it 
was  but  a  tiny  blaze  and  flickered  feebly,  eating  a  slow  way 
along  the  edges  of  the  eaves. 

Nick,  who  had  been  wrenching  at  the  imbedded  door  stone, 
finally  freed  and  lifted  it,  and  hurled  it  at  the  bolted  shutters. 
In  they  crashed.  Then  the  door,  too,  burst  open,  and  Tom 
Dawling  rushed  upon  me  with  his  rifle  clubbed  high  above  me. 

"You  damned  Whig!"  he  shouted,  "I'll  knock  your  brains  all 
over  the  grass  1" 


OUT  OP  THE  NORTH  185 

My  hatchet  in  a  measure  fended  the  blow  and  eased  its  murder- 
ous force,  but  I  stumbled  to  my  knees  under  it;  and  Baltus  Weed 
came  to  the  window  and  shot  me  through  the  body. 

At  that,  Gene  Grinnis  ran  out  o'  the  house  to  cut  my  throat, 
where  like  a  crippled  wild  beast  I  floundered,  a-kicking  and 
striving  to  find  my  feet;  and  I  saw  Nick  draw  up  and  shoot 
Gene  through  the  face,  with  a  load  of  buck,  so  that  where  were  his 
features  suddenly  became  but  a  vast  and  raw  hole. 

Down  he  sprawled  across  my  hurt  legs;  down  tumbled  John 
Howell,  too,  and  Silver,  a-clinging  to  him  tooth  and  nail,  their 
broad  knives  flashing  and  ripping  and  whipping  into  flesh. 

Striving  desperately  to  free  me  of  Grinnis,  and  get  up,  I  saw 
Tom  Dawling  throw  his  axe  at  Godfrey;  and  saw  Luysnes  shoot 
him,  then  seize  him  and  cut  his  throat,  even  as  he  was  falling. 

Johnny  Silver  began  bawling  lustily  for  help,  with  John  Howell 
atop  of  him,  cursing  him  for  a  rebel  and  striving  to  disembowel 
him.  De  Golyer  caught  Howell  by  the  throat,  and  Silver  scrambled 
to  his  feet,  his  clothing  in  bloody  ribbons.  Then  Joe's  hatchet 
flashed  level  with  terrific  swiftness,  crashing  to  its  mark;  and 
Howell  pitched  backward  with  his  head  clean  split  from  one  eye* to 
the  other,  making  of  the  top  of  his  skull  a  lid  which  hung  hinged 
only  by  the  hairy  skin. 

Luysnes  and  the  Saguenay  were  now  somewhere  inside  the  house 
a-chasing  of  Baity  Weed;  and  I  could  hear  Baity  screaming,  and 
the  thud  and  clatter  of  loose  logs  as  they  dragged  him  down  from 
the  loft  overhead. 

Nick  came  panting  to  me  where  I  sat  on  the  bloody  grass, 
feeling  sick  o'  my  wound  and  now  vomiting. 

"Are  you  bad?"  he  asked  breathlessly. 

"Baity  shot  me.  ...  I  don't  know " 

Somebody  knelt  down  behind  me,  and  I  laid  back  my  head,  feel- 
ing very  sick  and  faint,  but  entirely  conscious. 

The  awful  screaming  in  the  house  had  never  ceased;  Nick  sat 
down  on  the  grass  and  fumbled  at  my  shirt  with  trembling 
fingers. 

Presently  the  screaming  ceased.  Luysnes  came  out  o'  the 
house  with  a  lighted  lantern,  followed  by  the  Saguenay;  and  in 
the  wavering  radiance  I  saw  behind  them  the  feet  of  a  man  twitch- 
ing above  the  floor. 

"We  hung  the  louse  to  the  rafters,"  said  Luysnes,  "and  your 
Indian  asks  your  leave  to  scalp  him  as  soon  as  he's  done  a-kick- 
ing." 

"Let  him  have  the  scalp,"  said  de  Golyer,  grimly.     "He  shot 


186  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

John  Drogue  through  the  body.  Shine  your  lantern  on  him, 
Ben." 

They  crowded  around  me.  Nick  opened  my  shirt  and  drew  off 
my  leggins.  I  saw  Johnny  Silver,  in  tatters  and  all  drenched 
with  blood,  come  into  the  lantern's  rays. 

"Are  you  bad  hurt,  John?"  I  gasped. 

"Bah!  Non,  alors.  Onlee  has  Howell  slash  my  shirt  into 
leetle  rags  and  I  am  scratch  all  raw.  Zat  ees  nozzing,  mon 
capitaine — a  leetle  cut  like  wiz  a  Barlow — like  zat!  Pouf !  Bah! 
I  laugh.  I  make  mock!" 

"Your  ribs  are  broken,  John,"  says  Nick,  still  squatting 
beside  me.  "I  think  your  bones  turned  the  bullet,  and  it's  not 
lodged  in  your  belly  at  all,  but  in  your  right  thigh.  .  .  .  Fetch  a 
sop  o'  wet  moss,  Joe!" 

De  Luysnes  also  got  up  and  went  away  to  chop  some  stout 
alders  for  a  litter.  De  Golyer  was  back  in  a  moment,  both  hands 
full  of  dripping  sphagnum;  and  Nick  washed  away  the  mess  of 
blood. 

After  that  I  was  sick  at  my  stomach  again;  and  not  clear  in 
my  mind  what  they  were  about. 

I  gazed  around  out  of  fevered  eyes,  and  saw  dead  men  lying 
near  me.  Suddenly  the  full  horror  of  this  civil  war  seemed  to 
seize  my  senses; — all  the  shame  of  such  a  conflict,  a  black  dis- 
grace upon  us  here  in  County  Tryon. 

"Nick !"  I  cried,  "in  God's  name  give  those  men  burial." 

"Let  them  lie,  damn  them!"  said  Godfrey,  sullenly. 

"But  they  were  our  neighbors!  I — I  can't  endure  such  a  busi- 
ness. .  .  .  And  there  are  wolves  in  the  tamaracks." 

"Let  wolf  eat  wolf,"  muttered  Luysnes.  But  he  drew  his  knife 
and  went  into  the  house.  And  I  heard  Balty's  body  drop  when 
he  cut  it  down. 

Nick  came  over  to  me,  where  I  lay  on  a  frame  of  alders,  over 
which  a  blanket  had  been  thrown,  and  he  promised  that  a  burial 
party  should  come  out  here  as  soon  as  they  got  me  into  camp. 

So  two  of  my  men  lifted  the  litter,  and,  feeling  sick  and  drowsy, 
I  closed  my  eyes  and  felt  the  slow  waves  of  pain  sweep  me  with 
every  step  the  litter-bearers  took. 

1  had  been  lying  in  a  kind  of  stupor  upon  my  blanket,  aware  of 
dark  figures  passing  to  and  fro  before  the  lurid  radiance  of  our 
watch  fire,  yet  not  heeding  what  they  said  and  did,  save  only 
when  I  saw  Nick  and  Luysnes  go  away  carrying  two  ditch-spades. 


OUT  OF  THE  NORTH  187 

And*  was  vaguely  contented  to  have  the  dead  put  safe  from 
wolves. 

Later,  when  I  opened  my  burning  eyes  and  asked  for  water, 
I  saw  Tahioni  in  the  flushed  light  of  dawn,  andWtnew  that  my 
Indians  had  returned. 

Nick  filled  my  pannikin.  When  I  had  drunk,  I  felt  very  ill 
and  could  scarcely  find  voice  to  ask  him  how  my  Oneidas  had 
made  out  in  the  tamaracks. 

He  admitted  that  they  had  not  come  up  with  the  fugitives; 
and  added  that  I  was  badly  hurt  and  should  be  quiet  and  trouble 
my  mind  about  nothing  for  the  present. 

One  by  one  my  Indians  came  gravely  to  gaze  upon  me,  and  I 
tried  to  smile  and  to  speak  to  each,  but  my  mind  seemed  confused, 
what  with  the  burning  of  my  body  and  my  great  weariness. 

When  again  I  unclosed  my  eyes  and  asked  for  water,  I  was 
lying  under  the  open-faced  shed,  and  it  was  brilliant  sunshine 
outside. 

Somebody  had  stripped  me  and  had  heated  water  in  the  kettle, 
and  was  bathing  my  body. 

Then  I  saw  it  was  the  little  maid  of  Askalege. 

"Thiohero,— little  sister  ?" 

At  the  sound  of  my  voice,  she  came  and  bent  over  me.  In 
one  hand  she  held  a  great  sponge  of  steaming  spaghnum. 

Then  came  Nick,  who  leaned  closer  above  me. 

"Their  young  sorceress,"  said  he,  "has  washed  your  body  with 
bitter-bark  and  sumach,  and  has  cleansed  the  wounds  and  stopped 
them  with  dry  moss  and  balsam,  so  that  they  have  ceased  bleeding." 

I  turned  my  heavy  eyes  on  the  Oneida  girl. 

"Truly,"  said  I,  "I  have  come  back  through  the  mist,  returning 
in  scarlet.  .  .  .  My  little  sister  is  very  wise." 

She  said  nothing,  but  lifted  a  pannikin  of  cold  water  to  my  lips. 
It  had  bitter  herbs  in  it,  and,  I  think,  a  little  gin.  I  satisfied 
my  thirst. 

"Little  sister,"  I  gasped,  "is  the  hole  that  Baity  made  in  my 
body  so  great  that  my  soul  shall  presently  escape?" 

She  answered  calmly:  "I  have  looked  through  the  wound  into 
your  body;  and  I  saw  your  soul  there,  watching  me.  Then  I 
conjured  your  soul,  which  is  very  white,  to  remain  within  your 
body.  And  your  soul,  seeing  that  it  was  not  the  Eye  of  Tharon 
looking  in  to  discover  it,  went  quietly  to  sleep.  And  will  abide 
within  you." 


188  THE  LITTLE  BED  FOOT 

She  spoke  in  the  Oneida  dialect,  and  Nick  listened  impatiently, 
not  understanding. 

"What  does  the  little  Oneida  witch  say?"  he  demanded. 

Her  brother,  Tahioni,  the  Wolf,  answered  calmly:  "The  River- 
reed  is  a  witch  and  is  as  wise  as  the  Woman  of  the  Sounding 
Skies.  The  River-reed  sees  events  beforehand." 

"She  says  John  Drogue  will  live  ?"  demanded  Nick. 

"He  shall  surely  live,"  said  Thiohero,  drawing  the  blanket 
over  me. 

"Well,  then,"  said  Nick,  "in  God's  name  let  us  get  him  to  the 
Summer  House,  where  the  surgeon  of  the  Continentals  can.  treat 
him  properly,  and  the  ladies  there  nurse  him " 

That  roused  me,  and  I  strove  to  sit  up,  but  could  not. 

"I  shall  not  go  to  Summer  House!"  I  cried.  "If  I  am  in  need 
of  a  surgeon,  bring  him  here;  but  I  want  no  women  near  me! — 
I  do  not  desire  any  woman  at  Summer  House  to  nurse  me  or  aid 
or  touch  me " 

In  my  angry  excitement  at  the  very  remembrance  of  Lady 
Johnson  and  Claudia,  and  of  Penelope,  whom  I  had  beheld  in 
Steve  Watts'  arms — and  of  that  man  himself,  who  had  come 
spying, — I  forced  my  body  upright,  furious  at  the  mere  thought 
and  swore  I  had  rather  die  here  in  camp  than  be  taken  thither. 

Then,  suddenly  my  elbow  crumpled  under  me,  and  I  fell  back 
in  an  agony  of  pain  so  great  that  presently  the  world  grew  swiftly 
black  and  I  knew  no  more. 


CHAPTER  XX 

IN   SHADOW-LAND 

WHEN  I  became  conscious,  I  was  lying  under  blankets  upon 
a  trundle-bed,  within  the  four  walls  of  a  very  small  room. 

I  wore  a  night-shift  which  was  not  mine,  being  finer  and  oddly 
ruffled ;  and  under  it  my  naked  body  was  as  stiff  as  a  pike  pole,  and 
bound  up  like  a  mummy.  My  right  thigh,  too,  was  stiffly  swathed 
and  trussed,  and  I  thought  I  should  stifle  from  the  heat  of  the 
blankets. 

My  mind  was  clear;  I  was  aware  of  no  sharp  pain,  no  fever; 
but  felt  very  weak,  and  could  have  slept  again,  only  that  perspira- 
tion drenched  me  and  made  me  restless  even  as  I  dozed. 

Sometime  afterward — the  same  day,  I  think — I  awoke  in  some 
pain,  and  realized  that  I  was  lying  on  my  right  side  and  that 
the  wound  in  my  thigh  was  being  dressed. 

The  place  smelled  rank,  like  a  pharmacy,  and  slightly  sickened 
me. 

There  were  several  people  in  the  little  room.  I  saw  Nick 
kneeling  beside  the  bed,  holding  a  pewter  basin  full  of  steaming 
water,  and  a  Continental  officer  with  his  wristbands  tucked  up, 
choosing  forceps  from  a  battered  leather  case. 

I  could  not  move  my  body;  my  head  seemed  too  heavy  to  lift; 
but  I  was  aware  of  a  woman  standing  close  to  where  my  head 
rested.  I  could  see  her  two  feet  in  their  buckled  shoes,  and  her 
petticoat  of  cotton  stuff  printed  in  flowers. 

When  the  surgeon  had  done  a-packing  my  wound  with  lint,  pain 
had  left  me  weak  and  indifferent,  and  I  lay  heavily,  with  lids 
closed. 

Also,  I  had  seen  and  heard  enough  to  satisfy  what  languid 
curiosity  I  might  have  possessed.  For  I  was  in  the  gun-room 
at  Summer  House,  whither,  it  appeared,  they  had  taken  me, 
despite  my  command  to  the  contrary. 

But  now  I  was  too  weary  to  resent  it;  too  listless  to  worry; 
4  too  incurious  to  wonder  who  it  might  be  that  was  at  any  pains 
to  care  for  my  broken  body  at  Summer  House  Point. 

Nick  came,  later,  and  I  opened  my  eyes,  but  made  no  effort 

189 


190  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

to  speak.  He  seemed  pleased,  however,  and  gave  me  a  filthy  and 
bitter  draught,  which  I  swallowed,  but  which  so  madded  me  that 
I  swore  at  him. 

Whereupon  he  smiled  and  wiped  my  lips  and  tucked  in  the 
accursed  blankets  that  had  been  stifling  me  and  which  now  scraped 
my  unshaven  chin. 

"Damnation!"  I  whispered,  "you  smother  me,  drown  me  in 
sweat,  and  feed  me  gall  and  wormwood !" 

And  I  closed  my  eyes  to  sleep;  but  found  my  mind  not  so  in- 
clined, and  lay  half  dozing,  conscious  of  the  sunlight  on  the  floor. 

So  I  was  awake  when  he  arrived  again  with  a  pot  o'  broth. 

"Can  you  not  leave  me  in  peace!"  said  I,  so  savagely  that  he 
laughed  outright  and  bent  over,  stirring  the  broth  and  grinning 
down  at  me. 

Spoonful  by  spoonful  I  swallowed  the  broth.  There  was  wine 
in  it.  This  made  me  drowsy. 

To  keep  account  of  time,  whether  it  were  still  this  day  or  the 
next,  or  how  the  hours  were  passing,  had  been  a  matter  of  in- 
difference to  me.  Or  how  the  world  wagged  outside  the  golden 
dusk  of  this  small  room  had  interested  me  not  at  all. 

My  Continental  surgeon,  whom  they  called  Dr.  Thatcher,  came 
twice  a  day  and  went  smartly  about  his  business. 

Nick  dosed  me  and  fed  me.  I  had  asked  no  questions;  but  my 
mind  had  become  sullen  and  busy;  and  now  I  was  groping  back- 
ward and  searching  memory  to  find  the  time  and  place  when  I  had 
lost  touch  with  the  world  and  with  the  business  which  had  brought 
me  into  these  parts. 

All  was  clearly  linked  up  to  the  time  that  Baity  shot  me.  After- 
ward, only  fragments  of  the  chain  of  events  remained  in  my 
memory.  I  heard  again  the  thud  of  Balty's  body  on  the  puncheon 
floor,  when  Luysnes  cut  him  down  from  the  rafters  of  Howell's 
house.  I  remember  that  I  saw  men  take  ditch-spades  to  bury  the 
dead.  I  remember  that  my  body  seemed  all  afire  and  that  I  be- 
came enraged  and  forbade  them  to  take  me  to  Summer  House. 

Further — and  of  the  blank  spaces  between — I  had  no  recollec- 
tion save  that  the  whole  world  seemed  burning  up  in  darkness 
and  that  my  body  was  being  consumed  like  a  fagot  in  some  hellish 
conflagration,  where  the  flames  were  black  and  gave  no  light. 

This  day  Dr.  Thatcher  and  Nick  washed  me  and  closed  my 
wounds. 

There  had  been,  it  appeared,  some  drains  left  in  them.  The 
stiff  harness  on  my  ribs  they  left  untouched.  I  breathed,  now, 
without  any  pain,  but  itched  most  damnably. 


IN  SHADOW-LAND  191 

My  closed  wounds  itched.  I  desired  broth  no  longer  and  de- 
manded meat.  But  got  none  and  swore  at  Nick. 

A  barber  from  the  Continental  camp  arrived  to  trim  me.  He 
took  a  beard  from  me  that  amazed  me,  and  enough  h^air  to  awake 
the  envy  of  a  school-girl — for  I  refused  to  wear  a  queue,  and  bade 
him  trim  my  pol  a  la  Coureur-du-Bois. 

Now  this  barber,  who  was  a  private  soldier,  seemed  willing  to 
gossip;  and  of  him  I  asked  my  first  questions  concerning  the  out- 
side world  and  train  of  events. 

But  I  soon  perceived  that  all  he  knew  was  the  veriest  camp 
gossip,  and  that  his  budget  of  rumours  and  reports  was  of  no 
value  whatever.  For  he  said  that  our  armies  were  everywhere 
victorious;  that  the  British  armies  were  on  the  run;  and  that  the 
war  would  be  over  in  another  month.  Everybody,  quoth  he,  would 
become  rich  and  happy,  with  General  Washington  for  our  King, 
and  every  general  a  duke  or  marquis,  and  every  soldier  a  landed 
proprietor,  with  nothing  to  do  save  sit  on  his  porch,  smoke  his 
pipe,  and  watch  his  slaves  plow  his  broad  acres. 

When  this  sorry  ass  took  his  leave,  I  had  long  since  ceased  to 
listen  to  him. 

I  felt  very  well,  except  for  the  accursed  itching  where  my  flesh 
was  mending,  and  rib-bones  knitting. 

Dr.  Thatcher  came  in.  He  was  booted,  spurred,  wore  pistols 
and  sword,  and  a  military  foot-mantle. 

When  he  caught  my  eyes  he  smiled  slightly  and  asked  me  how  I 
did.  And  I  expressed  my  gratitude  as  suitably  as  I  knew  how,  say- 
ing that  I  was  well  and  desired  to  rise  and  be  about  my  business. 

"In  two  weeks,"  he  said,  which  took  me  aback. 

"Do  you  know  how  long  you  have  been  here?"  he  asked, 
amused. 

"Some  three  or  four  days,  I  suppose. 

"A  month  today,  Mr.  Drogue." 

This  stunned  me.  He  seated  himself  on  the  camp-stool  beside 
my  trundle-bed. 

"What  preys  upon  your  mind,  Mr.  Drogue  ?"  he  asked  pleasantly. 

"Sir?" 

"I  ask  you  what  it  is  that  troubles  you." 

I  felt  a  slow  heat  in  my  cheeks : 

"I  have  nothing  on  my  mind,  sir,  save  desire  to  return  to  duty." 

He  said  in  his  kindly  way:  "You  would  mend  more  quickly, 
sir,  if  your  mind  were  tranquil." 

I  felt  my  face  flush  to  my  hair: 

"Why  do  you  suppose  that  my  mind  is  uneasy,  Doctor?" 


192  THE  LITTLE  BED  FOOT 

"You  have  asked  no  questions.  A  sick  man,  when  recovering, 
asks  many.  You  seem  to  remain  incurious,  indifferent.  Yet,  you 
are  in  the  house  of  old  friends." 

He  looked  at  me  out  of  his  kind,  grave  eyes:  "Also,"  he  said, 
"you  had  many  days  of  fever." 

My  face  burned:  I  feared  to  guess  what  he  meant,  but  now 
I  must  ask. 

"Did  I  babble?" 

"A  feverish  patient  often  becomes  loquacious." 

"Of — of  whom  did  I — rave?"  I  could  scarce  force  myself 
to  the  question.  Then,  as  he  also  seemed  embarrassed,  I  added: 
"You  need  not  name  her,  Doctor.  But  I  beg  you  to  tell  me  who 
besides  yourself  overheard  me." 

"Only  your  soldier,  Nicholas  Stoner,  and  a  Saguenay  Indian, 
who  squats  outside  your  door  day  and  night." 

"Nobody  else?" 

"I  think  not." 

"Has  Lady  Johnson  heard  me?  Or  Mistress  Swift?  Or— 
Mistress  Grant?"  I  stammered. 

"Why,  no,"  said  he.  "These  ladies  were  most  tender  and  at* 
tentive  when  your  soldiers  brought  you  hither;  but  two  days 
afterward,  while  you  still  lay  unconscious, — and  your  right  lung 
filling  solid, — there  came  a  flag  from  General  Schuyler,  and  an 
escort  of  Albany  Horse  for  the  ladies.  And  they  departed  aj 
prisoners  the  following  morning,  with  their  flag,  to  be  delivered 
and  set  at  liberty  inside  the  British  lines." 

"They  are  gone?" 

<r5Tes,  sir.  Lady  Johnson,  while  happy  in  her  prospective  free- 
dom, and  hopeful  of  meeting  her  husband  in  New  York  City, 
seemed  very  greatly  distressed  to  leave  you  here  in  such  a  plight. 
And  Mistress  Swift  offered  to  remain  and  care  for  you,  but  our 
military  authorities  would  not  allow  it." 

I  said  nothing. 

He  added,  with  a  faint  smile:  "Our  authorities,  I  take  it,  were 
impatient  to  be  rid  of  responsibility  for  these  fair  prisoners,  Mr. 
Drogue.  I  know  that  Schuyler  is  vastly  relieved." 

"Has  Stephen  Watts  been  taken?"  I  asked  abruptly.  "Or  Hare, 
or  Butler?" 

"Not  that  I  have  heard  of." 

So  they  had  got  clean  away,  that  spying  crew! — Watts  and 
Hare  and  Walter  Butler!  Well,  that  was  better.  God  knows  I 
had  a  million  times  rather  meet  Steve  Watts  in  battle  than  take 
him  skulking  here  inside  our  lines  a-spying  on  our  camp,  ex- 


IN  SHADOW-LAND  193 

changing  information  with  his  unhappy  sister  and  with  Claudia, 
or  slinking  about  the  shrubbery  by  night  to  press  his  sweetheart's 
waist  and  lips 

I  turned  my  hot  face  on  the  pillow  and  lay  ^thinking.  The 
doctor  laid  back  my  blanket,  looked  at  my  hurts,  then  covered  me, 

"You  do  well,"  he  said.  "In  two  weeks  you  shall  be  out  o'  bed- 
Bones  must  knit  and  wounds  scar  before  you  carry  pack  again. 
And  before  your  lung  is  strong  you  shall  need  six  months  rest 
ere  you  take  the  field." 

Aghast  at  such  news,  I  asked  him  the  true  nature  of  my  hurts, 
and  learned  that  Balty's  bullet  had  broken  three  ribs  into  my  right 
lung,  then,  glancing,  had  made  a  hole  clean  through  my  thigh, 
but  not  splintering  the  bone. 

''That  Oneida  girl  of  Thomas  Spencer's  saved  you,"  said  he, 
"for  she  picked  out  the  burnt  wadding  and  bits  of  cloth,  cleaned 
and  checked  the  hemorrhage,  and  purged  you.  And  there  was  no 
gangrene. 

"She  did  all  that  anybody  could  have  done;  but  the  cold  had 
already  seized  your  lung  before  she  arrived,  and  it  was  that  which 
involved  you  so  desperately." 

After  a  silence:  "Good  God,  doctor!    Six  months!" 

"Six  months  before  you  take  the  field,  sir." 

"A  half  year  of  idleness?    Why,  that  can  not  he,  sir n 

"It  is  better  than  eternity  in  a  coffin,  sir,"  said  he  quietly. 

Then  he  came  and  took  my  hand,  saying  that  orders  had  come 
directing  him  to  join  our  Northern  Army  at  Crown  Point,  and  that 
he  was  to  set  off  within  the  hour. 

"A  little  nursing  and  continued  rest  are  all  you  now  require," 
said  he;  "and  so  I  leave  you  without  anxiety,  Mr.  Drogue." 

I  strove  to  express  my  deep  gratitude  for  his  service  to  me; 
he  pressed  my  hand,  smilingly: 

"If  you  would  hasten  convalescence,"  said  he,  "seek  to  recover 
that  serenity  of  mind  which  is  a  surer  medicine  than  any  in  my 
phials." 

At  the  door  he  turned  and  looked  back  to  me: 

"I  think,"  said  he  in  an  embarrassed  voice,  "that  you  have 
really  no  true  reason  for  unhappiness,  Mr.  Drogue.  If  you  have, 
then  my  experience  of  men  and  women  has  taught  me  nothing." 

With  that  he  went;  and  I  heard  his  sword  and  spurs  through 
the  hallway,  and  the  outer  door  close. 

What  had  he  meant? 

For  a  long  while  I  pondered  this.  Then  into  my  mind  came 
another  and  inevitable  question :  W hat  had  I  said  in  my  delirium  I 


194  THE  LITTLE  BED  FOOT 

I  was  hungry  when  Nick  came. 

"Well,"  says  he,  grinning  at  me,  "our  Continental  saw-bones 
permits  this  fat  wild  pigeon.  And  now  I  hope  I  shall  have  no 
more  cursing  to  endure." 

Tears  came  into  my  eyes  and  I  held  out  my  hand.  It  was 
blanched  white,  and  bony,  and  lay  oddly  in  his  great,  brown  paw. 

"Lord,"  says  he,  "what  a  fright  you  have  given  us,  John,  what 
with  coughing  all  day  and  night  like  a  sick  bullock " 

"I  am  mending,  Nick." 

"So  says  Major  Squills.  Here,  lad,  eat  thy  pigeon.  Does  it 
emack  ?  And  here  is  a  little  Spanish  wine  in  this  glass  to  nourish 
you.  I  had  three  bottles  of  the  Continentals  ere  they  marched " 

"Marched!  Have  they  departed?"  I  demanded  in  astonish- 
ment. 

"Horse,  foot,  and  baggage,"  said  he  cheerily.  "When  I  say 
'horse,'  I  mean  young  Jack-boots,  for  he  departed  first  with  the 
flag  that  took  my  Lady  Johnson  to  New  York." 

"So  everybody  has  gone,"  said  I,  blankly. 

"Why,  yes,  John.  The  flag  came  from  Schuyler  and  off  went 
the  ladies,  bag,  baggage,  and  servants. 

"Then  come  Colonels  Van  Schaick  and  Dayton  from  Johnstown 
to  inspect  our  works  at  this  place  and  at  Fish  House.  And  two 
days  later  orders  come  to  abandon  Fish  House  and  Summer 
House  Point.  .  .  .  You  do  not  remember  hearing  their  drums  ?n 

"No." 

"You  were  very  bad  that  day,"  he  said  soberly.  "But  when 
their  music  played  you  opened  your  eyes  and  nothing  would  do 
but  you  must  rise  and  dress.  Lord,  how  wild  you  talked,  and  I 
was  heartily  glad  when  their  drumming  died  away  on  the  Johns- 
town road." 

"You  mean  to  tell  me  that  there  is  no  longer  any  garrison  on 
the  Sacandaga  ?"  I  asked,  amazed. 

"None.  And  but  a  meagre  one  at  Johnstown.  It  seems  we 
need  troops  everywhere  and  have  none  to  send  anywhere.  They've 
even  taken  your  scout  and  your  Oneidas." 

"What !"  I  exclaimed. 

"They  left  a  week  ago,  John,  to  work  on  the  new  fort  which 
is  being  fashioned  out  of  old  Fort  Stanwix.  So  Dayton  sends 
your  scout  thither  to  play  with  pick  and  mattock,  and  your 
Oneidas  to  prowl  along  Wood  Creek  and  guard  the  batteaux." 

"You  tell  me  that  the  Sacandaga  is  left  destitute  of  garrison 
or  scouts!"  I  asked  angrily.  "And  Tryon  crawling  alive  with 
Tories  I — and  the  Cadys  and  Helmers  and  Bowmans  and  Eeeds 


IN  SHADOW-LAND  195 

and  Butlers  and  Hares  and  Stephen  Watts  stirring  the  disloyal 
to  violence  in  every  settlement  betwixt  Schnectady  and  Ballston  I" 

"I  tell  you  we  are  too  few  for  all  our  needl,  John, — too  few  to 
watch  all  places  threatened.  Schuyler  has  but  one  regiment  of 
Continentals  now.  Gates  commands  at  Crown  Point  and  draws 
to  him  all  available  men.  His  Excellency  is  pressed  for  men  in  the 
South,  too.  Albany  is  almost  defenceless,  Schenectady  practically 
unguarded,  and  only  a  handful  of  our  people  guard  Johnstown." 

"Where  are  the  militia?"  I  demanded. 

"Farming — save  when  the  district  call  sends  a  regiment  on  guard 
or  to  work  on  the  forts.  But  Herkimer  has  them  in  hand  against 
a  crisis,  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  those  Palatines  will  turn  out  to 
a  man  if  Sir  John  comes  hither  with  his  murderous  hordes." 

I  sat  in  silence,  picking  the  bones  of  my  pigeon.    Nick  said : 

"Colonel  Dayton  came  in  here  and  looked  at  you.  And  when  he 
left  he  said  to  me  that  you  had  proven  a  valuable  scout;  and 
that,  if  you  survived,  he  desired  you  to  remain  here  at  the  Summer 
House  with  me  and  with  your  Saguenay." 

"For  what  purpose?"  I  demanded,  sullenly. 

"On  observation." 

"A  scout  of  three !  To  cover  the  Sacandaga  I  Do  they  think  we 
have  wings  ?  Or  are  a  company  of  tree-cats  with  nine  lives  apiece?" 

"Well,"  said  Nick,  scratching  his  ear  in  perplexity,  "I  know  not 
what  our  colonels  and  our  generals  are  thinking;  but  the  soldiers 
are  gone,  and  our  doctor  has  now  departed,  so  if  Dayton  leaves 
us  four  people  alone  here  in  the  Summer  House  it  must  be  because 
there  is  nothing  for  the  present  to  apprehend,  either  from  Sir 
John  or  from  any  Indian  or  Tory  marauders." 

"Four  people?"  I  repeated.  "I  thought  you  said  we  were  but 
three  here." 

"Why,"  said  he,  "I  mean  that  we  are  three  men — three  rifles!" 

"Is  there  a  servant  woman,  also?" 

He  looked  at  me  oddly. 

"The  Caughnawaga  girl  came  back." 

'What!" 

"The  Scottish  girl,  Penelope." 

"Came  back  1    When?" 

"Oh,  that  was  long  ago — after  the  flag  left.  ...  It  seems  she 
had  meant  to  travel  only  to  Mayfield  with  them.  .  .  .  She  had 
not  said  so  to  anybody.  But  in  the  dark  o'  dawn  she  rides  in  on 
your  mare,  Kaya,  having  travelled  all  night  long." 

"  'Why,'  says  I,  'what  do  you  here  on  John  Drogue's  horse  in 
the  dark  o'  dawn?' 


196  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

"  'If  there's  danger/  says  she  calmly,  'this  sick  man  should 
have  a  horse  to  carry  him  to  Mayfield  fort.' 

"Which  was  true  enough;  and  I  said  so,  and  stabled  your  mare 
where  Lady  Johnson's  horses  had  left  a  warm  and  empty  manger." 

"Well,"  said  I  harshly,  as  he  remained  silent. 

"Lord,  Jack,  that  is  all  I  know.  She  has  cooked  for  you  since, 
and  has  kept  this  house  in  order,  washed  dishes,  fed  the  chickens 
and  ducks  and  pig,  groomed  your  horse,  hoed  the  garden,  sewed 
bandages,  picked  lint,  knitted  stockings  and  soldiers'  vests " 

"Why?"  I  demanded. 

"I  asked  her  that,  John.  And  she  answered  that  there  was 
nobody  here  to  care  for  a  sick  man's  comfort,  and  that  Dr. 
Thatcher  had  told  her  you  would  die  if  they  moved  you  to  Johns- 
town hospital. 

"I  thought  she'd  become  frightened  and  leave  when  the  Conti- 
nentals marched  out;  they  all  came — the  officers — where  she  sat 
a-knitting  by  the  apple-tree;  but  she  only  laughed  at  their  im- 
portunities, made  light  of  any  dangers  to  be  apprehended,  and 
refused  a  seat  on  their  camp  wagon.  And  it  pleased  me,  John, 
to  see  how  doleful  and  crestfallen  were  some  among  those  same 
young  blue-and-buffs  when  they  were  obliged  to  ride  away  that 
morning  and  leave  here  there  a-sewing  up  your  shirt  where 
Balty's  bullet  had  rent  it." 

A  slight  thrill  shot  me  through.  But  it  died  cold.  And  I 
thought  of  Steve  Watts,  and  of  her  in  his  embrace  under  the 
lilacs. 

If  she  now  remained  here  it  was  for  no  reason  concerning  me. 
It  was  because  she  thought  her  lover  might  return  some  night 
and  take  her  in  his  arms  again.  That  was  the  reason. 

And  with  this  miserable  conclusion,  a  more  dreadful  doubt 
seized  me.  What  of  the  loyalty  of  a  girl  whose  lover  is  a  King's 
man? 

I  remembered  how,  in  the  blossoming  orchard,  she  had  whispered 
to  me  that  she  was  a  friend  to  liberty. 

Was  that  to  be  believed  of  a  maid  whose  lover  came  into  our 
camp  a  spy? 

I  lay  back  on  my  pillow  and  closed  my  eyes.  What  was  this 
girl  to  me  that  I  should  care  one  way  or  the  other? 

Nick  took  my  platter  and  went  away,  leaving  me  to  sleep  as 
I  seemed  to  desire  it. 

But  I  had  no  desire  to  sleep.  And  as  I  lay  there,  I  became 
sensible  that  my  entire  and  battered  body  was  almost  impercep- 
tibly a-tremble. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  DEMON 

I  THINK  that  summer  was  the  strangest  ever  I  have  lived, — 
the  most  unreal  days  of  life, — so  still,  so  golden,  so  strangely 
calm  the  solitude  that  ringed  me  where  I  was  slowly  healing  of 
my  hurt. 

Each  dawn  was  heralded  by  gold  fire,  each  evening  by  a  rosy 
conflagration  in  the  west.  It  rained  only  at  night;  and  all  that 
crystal  clear  mid-summer  scarcely  a  shred  of  fleece  dappled  the 
empyrean. 

Those  winds  which  blow  so  frequently  in  our  Northland  seemed 
to  have  become  zephyrs,  too ;  and  there  was  but  a  reedy  breeze  along 
the  Ylaie  Water,  and  scarce  a  ripple  to  rock  the  lily  pads  in 
shallow  reach  and  cove. 

It  was  strange.  And,  only  for  the  loveliness  of  night  and  day, 
there  might  have  seemed  in  this  hushed  tranquillity  around  me  a 
sort  of  hidden  menace. 

For  all  around  about  was  war,  where  Tryon  County  lay  so 
peacefully  in  the  sunshine,  ringed  within  the  outer  tumult,  and 
walled  on  all  sides  by  battle  smoke. 

Above  us  our  fever-stricken  Northern  army,  driven  from  Crown 
Point,  now  lay  and  sickened  at  Ticonderoga,  where  General 
Gates  did  now  command  our  people,  while  poor  Arnold,  turned 
ship's  carpenter,  laboured  to  match  Guy  Carleton's  flotilla  which 
the  British  were  dragging  piecemeal  over  Chambly  Rapids  to  blow 
us  out  o'  the  lake. 

From  south  of  us  came  news  of  the  Long  Island  disaster  where 
His  Excellency,  driven  from  Brooklyn  and  New  York,  now  lay 
along  the  Harlem  Heights. 

And  it  was  a  sorry  business;  for  Billy  Alexander,  who  is  Lord 
Stirling,  was  taken  a  prisoner;  and  Sullivan  also  was  taken;  and 
their  two  brigades  were  practically  destroyed. 

But  worse  happened  at  New  York  City,  where  the  New  York 
militia  ran  and  two  New  England  brigades,  seized  with  panic,  fled 
in  a  shameful  manner.  And  so  out  o'  town  our  people  pulled 
foot,  riotous  and  disorderly  in  retreat,  and  losing  all  our  heavy 

197 


198  THE  LITTLE  BED  FOOT 

guns,  nearly  all  our  stores,  and  more  than  three  hundred  prisoners. 

This  was  the  news  I  had  of  the  Long  Island  battle,  where  I  lay 
in  convalescence  at  Summer  House  that  strange,  still  summer  in 
the  North. 

And  I  thought  very  bitterly  of  what  advantage  was  it  that  we 
had  but  just  rung  bells  and  fired  off  our  cannon  to  salute  our  new 
Declaration  of  Independence,  and  had  upset  the  prancing  leaden 
King  from  his  pedestal  on  the  Bowling  Green,  if  our  militia 
ran  like  rabbits  at  sight  of  the  red-coats,  and  general  officers 
like  Lord  Stirling  were  mouse-trapped  in  their  first  battle. 

Alas  for  poor  New  York,  where  fire  and  explosion  had  laid 
a  third  of  the  city  in  ruins ;  where  the  drums  of  the  red-coats  now 
rolled  brazenly  along  the  Broadway;  where  Delancy's  horsemen 
scoured  the  island  for  friends  to  liberty;  where  that  great  wretch, 
Loring,  lorded  it  like  an  unclean  devil  of  the  pit. 

God!  to  think  on  it  when  all  had  gone  so  well;  and  Boston 
clean  o'  red-coats,  and  Canada  all  but  in  our  grasp;  and  old 
Charleston  shaking  with  her  dauntless  cannonade,  and  our  people's 
volleys  pouring  into  Dunmore's  hirelings  through  the  levelled 
cinders  of  Norfolk  town! 

What  was  the  matter  with  us  that  these  Southern  gentlemen 
stood  the  British  fire  while,  if  we  faced  it,  we  crumpled  and  gave 
ground;  or,  if  we  shunned  it,  we  ran  disgracefully?  Save  only 
at  Boston  had  we  driven  the  red-coats  on  land.  The  British 
flame  had  scorched  us  on  Long  Island,  singed  us  in  New  York, 
blasted  us  at  Falmouth  and  Quebec,  and  left  our  armies  writhing 
in  the  ashes  from  Montreal  to  Norfolk. 

And  yet  how  tranquil,  how  fair,  how  ominously  calm  lay  our 
Valley  Land  in  the  sunshine,  ringed  here  by  our  blue  mountains 
where  no  slightest  cloud  brooded  in  an  unstained  sky ! 

And  more  still,  more  strange  even  than  the  untroubled  calm  of 
Tryon,  lay  the  Summer  House  in  its  sunlit,  soundless,  and  green 
desolation. 

Where,  through  the  long  days,  nothing  moved  on  the  waste  of 
waters  save  where  a  sun-burnished  reed  twinkled.  Where,  under 
star-powdered  skies,  no  wind  stirred;  and  only  the  vague  far  cry 
of  some  wandering  wild  thing  ever  disturbed  that  vast  and  velvet 
silence. 

Long  before  she  cams  near  me  to  speak  to  me,  and  even  before 
she  had  glanced  at  me  from  the  west  porch,  whither  she  took  her 
knitting  in  the  afternoons,  I  had  seen  Penelope. 

From  where  I  lay  on  my  trundle  in  Sir  William's  old  gun- 


THE  DEMON  199 

room  I  could  see  out  across  the  hallway  an<?  through  the  door, 
where  the  west  veranda  ran. 

In  the  mornings  either  my  Indian,  Yellow-Leaf,  or  Nick  Stoner 
mounted  guard  there,  watching  the  green  and  watery  wastes  to 
the  northward,  while  his  comrade  freshened  my  sheets  and  pillows 
and  cleansed  my  room. 

In  the  afternoons  one  o'  them  went  a-fishing  or  prowling  after 
meat  for  our  larder,  or,  sometimes,  Nick  went  a-horse  to  Mayfield 
on  observation,  or  to  Johnstown  for  news  or  a  bag  of  flour.  And 
t'other  watched  from  the  veranda  roof,  which  was  railed,  and  ran 
all  around  the  house,  so  that  a  man  might  walk  post  there  and 
face  all  points  of  the  compass. 

As  for  Penelope,  I  soon  learned  her  routine;  for  in  the  morning 
she  was  in  the  kitchen  and  about  the  house — save  only  she  came 
not  to  my  room — but  swept  and  dusted  the  rest,  and  cooked  in 
the  cellar-kitchen. 

Sometimes  I  could  see  her  in  apron  and  pink  print,  drawing 
water  from  the  orchard  well,  and  her  skirt  tucked  up  against  the 
dew. 

Sometimes  I  saw  her  early  in  the  garden,  where  greens  grew 
and  beans  and  peas;  or  sometimes  she  hoed  weeds  where  potatoes 
and  early  corn  stood  in  rows  along  a  small  strip  planted  between 
orchard  and  posy-bed. 

And  sometimes  I  could  see  her  a-milking  our  three  Jersey 
cows,  or,  with  a  sickle,  cutting  green  fodder  for  my  mare,  Kaya, 
whose  dainty  hoofs  I  often  heard  stamping  the  barn  floor. 

But  after  the  dinner  hour,  and  when  the  long,  still  afternoons 
lay  listlessly  betwixt  mid-summer  sun  and  the  pale,  cool  dusk,  she 
came  from  her  chamber  all  freshened  like  a  faint,  sweet  breeze  in 
her  rustling  petticoat  of  sheer,  sprigged  stuff,  to  seat  herself  on 
the  west  veranda  with  her  knitting. 

Day  after  day  I  lay  on  my  trundle  where  I  could  see  her.  She 
never  noticed  me,  though  by  turning  her  head  she  could  have 
seen  me  where  I  lay. 

I  do  not  now  remember  clearly  what  was  my  state  of  mind 
except  that  a  dull  bitterness  reigned  there. 

Which  was,  of  course,  against  all  common  sense  and  decent 
reason. 

I  had  no  claim  upon  this  girl.  I  had  kissed  her — through  no 
fault  of  hers,  and  by  no  warrant  and  no  encouragement  from  her 
to  so  conduct  in  her  regard. 

I  had  kissed  her  once.  But  other  men  had  done  that  perhaps 
with  no  more  warrant.  And  I,  though  convinced  that  the  girl 


200  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

knew  not  how  to  parry  such  surprises,  brooded  sullenly  upon 
mine  own  indiscretion  with  her;  and  pondered  upon  the  pos- 
sible behaviour  of  other  men  with  her.  And  I  silently  damned 
their  impudence,  and  her  own  imprudence  which  seemed  to  have 
taught  her  little  in  regard  to  men. 

But  in  my  mind  the  chief  est  and  most  sullen  trouble  lay  in  what 
I  had  seen  under  the  lilacs  that  night  in  June. 

And  when  I  closed  my  eyes  I  seemed  to  see  her  in  Steve  Watts' 
arms,  and  the  lad's  ardent  embrace  of  her  throat  and  hair,  and 
the  flushed  passion  marring  his  youthful  face 

I  often  lay  there,  my  eyes  on  her  where  I  could  see  her  through 
the  door,  knitting,  and  strove  to  remember  how  I  had  first  heard 
her  name  spoken,  and  how  at  that  last  supper  at  the  Hall  her  name 
was  spoken  and  her  beauty  praised  by  such  dissolute  young  gal- 
lants as  Steve  Watts  and  Lieutenant  Hare;  and  how  even  Sir 
John  had  blurted  out,  in  his  cups,  enough  to  betray  an  idle  dal- 
liance with  this  yellow-haired  girl,  and  sufficient  to  affront  his 
wife  and  his  brother-in-law,  and  to  disgust  me. 

And  Nick  had  said  that  men  swarmed  about  her  like  forest- 
flies  around  a  pan  o'  syrup! 

And  all  this,  too,  before  ever  I  had  laid  eyes  upon  this  slim 
and  silent  girl  who  now  sat  out  yonder  within  my  sullen  vision, 
knitting  or  winding  her  wool  in  silence. 

What,  then,  could  be  the  sentiments  of  any  honest  man  con- 
cerning her?  What,  when  I  considered  these  things,  were  my 
own  sentiments  in  her  regard? 

And  though  report  seemed  clear,  and  what  I  had  witnessed 
plainer  still,  I  seemed  to  be  unable  to  come  to  any  conclusion 
as  to  my  true  sentiments  in  this  business,  or  why,  indeed,  it  was 
any  business  of  mine,  and  why  I  concerned  myself  at  all. 

Men  found  her  young  and  soft  and  inexperienced;  and  so  stole 
from  her  the  kiss  that  heaven  sent  them. 

And  Steve  Watts,  at  least,  was  more  wildly  enamoured.  ... 
And,  no  doubt,  that  reckless  flame  had  not  left  her  entirely 
cold.  .  .  .  Else  how  could  she  have  strolled  away  to  meet  him  that 
same  night  when  her  lips  must  still  have  felt  the  touch  of  mine? 
.  .  .  And  how  endured  his  passion  there  in  the  starlight?  .  .  . 
And  if  she  truly  were  a  loyal  friend  to  liberty,  how  in  God'a 
name  give  secret  tryst  and  countenance  to  a  spy  ? 

One  morning,  when  Nick  had  bathed  me,  I  made  him  dress  me 
in  forest  leather.  Lord,  but  I  was  weak  o'  the  feet,  and  light  in 
head  as  a  blown  egg-shell  I 


THE  DEMON  201 

Thus,  dressed,  I  lay  all  morning  on  myftrundle,  and  there, 
seated  on  the  edge,  was  given  my  noon  dinner. 

But  I  had  no  mind,  now,  to  undress  and  rest.  I  desired  to 
go  to  the  veranda,  and  did  fume  and  curse  and  bully  poor  Nick 
until  he  picked  me  up  and  carried  me  thither  and  did  seat  me 
within  a  large  and  cushioned  Windsor  chair. 

Then,  madded,  he  went  away  to  fish  for  a  silver  pike  in  our 
canoe,  saying  with  much  viciousness  that  I  might  shout  my 
throat  raw  and  perish  there  ere  he  would  stir  a  foot  to  put  me 
to  bed  again. 

So  I  watched  him  go  down  to  the  shore  where  the  canoe  lay,  lift 
in  rod  and  line  and  paddle,  and  take  water  in  high  dudgeon. 

"Even  an  ass  knows  when  he's  sick!"  he  called  out  to  me.  But 
I  laughed  at  him  and  saw  his  broad  paddle  stab  the  water,  and 
the  birchen  craft  shoot  out  among  the  reeds. 

Now  it  was  in  my  thoughts  to  see  how  Mistress  Penelope  would 
choose  to  conduct,  who  had  so  long  and  so  tranquilly  ignored  rae. 

For  here  was  I  established  upon  the  spot  where  she  had  been 
accustomed  to  sit  through  the  long  afternoons  .  .  .  and  think 
on  Steve  Watts,  no  doubt !  .  .  . 

Comes  Mistress  Penelope  in  sprigged  gown  of  lavender,  and 
smelling  fresh  of  the  herb  itself  or  of  some  faint  freshness. 

I  rested  both  hands  upon  the  arms  of  my  Windsor  chair  and  so 
managed  to  stand  erect. 

She  turned  rosy  to  her  ear-tips  at  the  sudden  encounter,  but  her 
voice  was  self-possessed  and  in  nowise  altered  when  she  greeted 
me. 

I  offered  my  hand;  she  extended  hers  and  I  saluted  it. 

Then  she  seated  herself  at  leisure  in  her  Windsor  reading- 
chair,  laid  her  basket  of  wool-skeins  upon  the  polished  book-rest, 
and  calmly  fell  to  knitting. 

"So,  you  are  mending  fast,  sir,"  says  she;  and  her  smooth 
little  fingers  travelling  steadily  with  her  shining  needles,  and 
her  dark  eyes  intent  on  both. 

"Oh,  for  that,"  said  I,  "I  am  well  enough,  and  shall  Boon  be 
strong  to  strap  war-belt  and  sling  pack  and  sack.  .  .  .  Are  you 
in  health,  Mistress  Pen  ?" 

She  expressed  thanks  for  the  civil  inquiry.  And  knitted  on  and 
on.  And  silence  fell  between  us. 

If  it  was  then  that  I  first  began  to  fear  I  was  in  love  with 
her,  I  do  not  surely  remember  now.  For  if  such  a  doubt  assailed 
«ne,  then  instantly  my  mind  resented  so  unwelcome  a  notion. 
And  not  only  was  there  no  pleasure  in  the  thought,  but  it  stirred 


202  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

in  me  a  kind  of  breathless  anger  which  seemed  to  have  long 
slumbered  in  its  own  ashes  within  me  and  now  gave  out  a  dull 
heat. 

"Have  you  news  of  Lady  Johnson  and  of  Mistress  Swift?"  I 
asked  at  last. 

She  lifted  her  eyes  in  surprise. 

"No,  sir.  How  should  news  come  to  us  here?" 

"I  thought  there  might  be  channels  of  communication." 

"I  know  of  none,  sir.  York  is  far,  and  the  Canadas  are  farther 
stilL  No  runners  have  come  to  Summer  House." 

"Still,"  said  I,  "communication  was  possible  when  I  got  my 
hurt  last  June." 

"Sir?" 

"Is  that  not  true?" 

She  looked  at  me  in  troubled  silence. 

"Did  not  Lady  Johnson's  brother  come  here  in  secret  to  giv« 
her  news,  and  take  as  much  away  ?" 

She  did  not  answer. 

"Once,"  said  I,  "although  I  had  not  asked,  you  told  me  that 
you  were  a  friend  to  liberty." 

"And  am  so,"  said  she. 

"And  have  a*  Tory  lover." 

At  that  her  face  flamed  and  her  wool  dropped  into  her  lap. 
She  did  not  look  at  me  but  sat  with  gaze  ahead  of  her  as  though 
considering. 

At  last :  "Do  you  mean  Captain  Watts  ?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,  I  mean  him." 

"He  is  not  my  lover." 

"I  ask  your  pardon.  The  inference  was  as  natural  as  my 
error." 

"Sir?" 

"Appearances,"  said  I,  "are  proverbially  deceitful.  Instead 
of  saying  'your  lover/  I  should,  perhaps,  have  said  'one  of  your 
lovers.'  And  so  again  ask  pardon." 

"Are  you  my  lover,  sir  ?" 

"I?"  said  I,  taken  aback  at  the  direct  shot  so  unexpected. 

"Yes,  you,  my  lord.    Are  you  one  of  my  lovers  ?" 

"I  think  not.  Why  do  you  ask  me  that  which  never  could  be 
a  question  that  yes  or  no  need  answer  ?" 

"I  thought  perhaps  you  might  deem  yourself  my  lover." 

"Why?" 

"Because  you  kissed  me  once, — as  did  Captain  Watts.  .  .  .  And 
two  other  gentlemen." 


THE  DEMON  203 

"Two  other  gentlemen?"  ( 

"Yes,  sir.  A  cornet  of  horse, — his  name  escapes  me — and  Sir 
John." 

"Who!"  I  blurted  angrily. 

"Sir  John  Johnson." 

"The  dissolute  beast!"  said  I.     "Had  I  known   it  that  night 

at  Johnson  Hall "  But  here  I  checked  my  speech  and  waited  till 

the  hot  blood  in  my  face  was  done  burning. 

And  when  again  I  was  cool:  "I  am  sorry  for  my  heat,"  said 
I.  "Your  conduct  is  your  own  affair." 

"You  once  made  it  yours,  sir, — for  a  moment." 

Again  I  went  hot  and  red;  and  how  I  had  conducted  with  this 
maid  plagued  me  so  that  I  found  no  word  to  answer. 

She  knitted  for  a  little  while.  Then,  lifting  her  dark  young 
eyes: 

"You  have  as  secure  a  title  to  be  my  lover  as  has  any  man, 
Mr.  Drogue.  Which  is  no  title  at  all." 

"Steve  Watts  took  you  in  his  arms  near  the  lilacs." 

"What  was  that  to  you,  Mr.  Drogue  ?" 

<fHe  was  a  spy  in  our  uniform  and  in  our  camp!" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"And  you  gave  him  your  lips." 

"He  took  what  he  took.  I  gave  only  what  was  in  my  heart 
to  give  to  any  friend  in  peril." 

"What  was  that?" 

"Solicitude." 

"Oh.    You  warned  him  to  leave  ?    And  he  an  enemy  and  a  spy  ?" 

"I  begged  him  to  go,  Mr.  Drogue." 

"Do  you  still  call  yourself  a  friend  to  liberty  ?"  I  asked  angrily. 

"Yes,  sir.  But  I  was  his  friend  too.  I  did  not  know  he  had 
come  here.  And  when  by  accident  I  recognized  him  I  was 
frightened,  because  I  thought  he  had  come  to  carry  news  to  Lady 
Johnson." 

"And  so  he  did!    Did  he  not?" 

''He  said  he  came  for  me." 

"To  visit  you?" 

"Yes,  sir.  And  I  think  that  was  true.  For  when  he  made 
himself  known  to  his  sister,  she  came  near  to  fainting;  and  so 
he  spoke  no  more  to  her  at  all  but  begged  me  for  a  tryst  before 
he  left." 

"Oh.    And  you  granted  it?" 
•  "Yes,  sir." 

"Why?" 


204  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

"I  was  in  great  fright,  fearing  he  might  be  taken,  .  .  .  Also 
I  pitied  him." 

"Why  so?"  I  sneered. 

"Because  he  had  courted  me  at  Caughnawaga.  .  .  .  And  at 
first  I  think  he  made  a  sport  of  his  courting, — like  other  young 
men  of  Tryon  gentry  who  hunt  and  court  to  a  like  purpose.  .  .  . 
And  so,  one  day  at  Caughnawaga,  I  told  him  I  was  honest.  .  .  . 
I  thought  he  ought  to  know,  lest  folly  assail  us  in  unfamiliar 
guise  and  do  us  a  harm." 

"Did  you  so  speak  to  this  young  man?" 

"Yes,  sir.  I  told  him  that  I  am  a  maiden.  I  thought  it  hest 
that  he  should  know  as  much.  .  .  .  And  so  he  courted  me  no 
more.  But  every  day  he  came  and  glowered  at  other  men.  ...  I 
laughed  secretly,  so  fiercely  he  watched  all  who  came  to  Cayadutta 
Lodge.  .  .  .  And  then  Sir  John  fled.  And  war  came.  .  .  .  Well, 
sir,  there  is  no  more  to  tell,  save  that  Captain  Watts  dared  come 
hither." 

"To  take  you  in  his  arms?" 

"He  did  so, — yes,  sir, — for  the  first  time  ever." 

"Then  he  is  honestly  in  love  with  you?" 

"But  you,  also,  did  the  like  to  me.  Is  it  a  consequence  of 
honest  love,  Mr.  Drogue,  when  a  young  man  embraces  a  maiden's 
lips?" 

Her  questions  had  so  disconcerted  me  that  I  found  now  no 
answer  to  this  one. 

"I  know  nothing  about  love,"  said  I,  looking  out  at  the  sunlit 
waters. 

"Nor  I,"  said  she. 

"Yon  seem  willing  to  be  schooled,"  I  retorted. 

"Not  willing,  not  unwilling.  I  do  not  understand  men,  but 
am  not  averse  to  learning  something  of  their  ways.  No  two 
seem  similar,  Mr.  Drogue,  save  in  the  one  matter." 

"Which?"  I  asked  bluntly. 

"The  matter  of  paying  court.  All  seem  to  do  it  naturally, 
though  some  take  fire  quicker,  and  some  seem  to  burn  more 
ardently  than  others." 

"It  pleasures  you  to  be  courted?  Gallantries  suit  you?  And 
the  flowery  phrases  suitors  use?" 

"They  pleasurably  perplex  me.  Time  passes  more  agreeably 
when  one  is  knitting.  To  be  courted  is  not  an  unwelcome  diver- 
sion to  any  woman,  I  think.  And  flowery  phrases  are  pleasant 
to  notice, — like  music  suitably  played,  and  of  which  one  is 
conscious  though  occupied  with  other  matters." 


THE  DEMON       €  205 

"If  this  be  not  coquetry,"  I  thought,  "then  it  is  most  perilously 
akin  to  it." 

Obscurely  yet  deeply  disturbed  by  the  blind  stirring  of  emotions 
I  could  not  clearly  analyze,  I  sat  brooding  there.  Now  I  watched 
her  fingers  playing  with  the  steels,  and  her  young1  face  lowered; 
now  I  gazed  afar  across  the  blue  Vlaie  Water  to  the  bluer  moun- 
tains beyond,  which  dented  the  horizon  as  the  great  blue  waves 
of  Lake  Ontario  make  molten  mountains  against  an  azure  sky. 

So  still  was  the  world  that  the  distant  leap  and  splash  of  a 
great  silver  pike  sounded  like  a  gun-shot  in  that  breathless,  sun- 
drenched solitude. 

Yet  I  found  no  solace  now  in  all  this  golden  peace;  for,  of  the 
silence  between  this  maid  and  me,  had  been  born  a  vague  and 
malicious  thing;  and  like  a  subtle  demon  it  had  come,  now,  into 
my  body  to  turn  me  sullen  and  restless  with  the  scarce-formed, 
scarce-comprehended  thoughts  it  hatched  within  me.  And  one 
of  these  had  to  do  with  Stevie  Watts,  and  he :v  he  had  come  here 
for  the  sake  of  this  girl.  .  .  .  And  had  taken  her  into  his  arms 
tinder  the  stars,  near  the  lilacs.  .  .  .  And  my  lips  still  warm  from 
hers.  .  .  .  Yet  she  had  gone  to  him  in  the  dusk.  .  .  .  Was  afeard 
for  him.  .  .  .  Pitied  him.  .  .  .  And  doubtless  loved  him,  what- 
ever she  might  choose  to  say  to  me.  .  .  .  Under  any  circumstances 
a  coquette;  and,  innocent  or  wise,  to  the  manner  born  at  any 
rate.  .  .  .  And  some  Tryon  County  gallant  likely  to  take  her 
measure  some  day  ere  she  awake  from  her  soft  bewilderment 
at  the  ways  and  conducting  of  mankind. 

Nick  came  at  eventide,  carrying  a  pike  by  the  gills,  and  showed 
us  his  fingers  bleeding  of  the  watery  conflict. 

"Is  all  calm  on  the  Sacandaga  ?"  I  enquired. 

"Calm  as  a  roadside  puddle,  Jack.  And  every  day  I  ask  myself 
if  there  be  truly  any  war  in  North  America  or  no,  so  placid  shines 
God's  sun  on  Tryon.  .  .  .  You  mend  apace,  old  friend.  Do  you 
suffer  fatigue?" 

"None,  Nick.  I  shall  sit  at  table  tonight  with  Mistress  Grant 
and  you " 

My  voice  ceased,  and,  without  warning,  the  demon  that  had 
entered  into  me  began  a-whispering.  Then  the  first  ignoble  and 
senseless  pang  of  jealousy  assailed  me  to  remember  that  this  girl 
and  my  comrade  had  been  alone  for  weeks  together — supped 
all  alone  at  table — companioned  each  the  other  while  I  lay  ill ! 

Senseless,  miserable  clod  that  I  was  to  listen  to  that  demon's 
whispering  till  my  very  belly  seemed  sick-sore  with  the  pain 
of  it  and  my  heart  hurt  me  under  the  ribs. 


206  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

Now  she  rose  and  looked  at  Nick  and  laughed;  and  they 
said  a  word  or  two  I  could  not  quite  hear,  but  she  laughed  again 
as  though  with  some  familiar  understanding,  and  went  lightly 
away  to  her  evening  milking. 

"We  shall  be  content  indeed,"  said  Nick,  "that  you  sit  at  supper 
with  us,  old  friend." 

But  I  had  changed  my  mind,  and  said  so. 

"You  will  not  sit  with  us  tonight?"  he  asked,  concerned. 

I  looked  at  him  coldly : 

"I  shall  go  to  bed,"  said  I,  "and  desire  no  supper.  .  .  .  Nor 
any  aid  whatever.  ...  I  am  tired.  The  world  wearies  me.  .  .  . 
And  so  do  my  own  kind." 

And  I  got  up  and  all  alone  walked  to  mv  little  chamber. 

So  great  an  ass  was  L 


CHAPTEK  XXII 

HAG-RIDDEN" 

SO  passed  that  unreal  summer  of  '76;  and  so  came  autumn 
upon  us  with  its  crimsons,  purples,  and  russet-gold;  its 
cherry- red  suns  a-swimming  in  the  flat  marsh  fogs;  its  spectral 
mists  veiling  Ylaie  Water  and  curtaining  the  Sacandaga  from 
shore  to  shore. 

Rumours  of  wars  came  to  us,  but  no  war;  gossip  of  armies  and 
of  battles,  but  no  battles. 

Armies  of  wild-fowl,  however,  came  to  us  on  the  great  Vlaie; 
duck  and  geese  and  companies  of  snowy  swans;  and  at  night  I 
could  hear  their  fairy  trumpets  in  the  sky  heralding  the  white 
onset  from  the  North. 

And  pigeons  came  to  the  beech-woods,  millions  and  millions, 
so  that  their  flight  was  a  windy  roaring  in  the  sky  and  darkened 
the  sun. 

Birches  and  elms  and  chestnuts  and  soft  maples  turned  yellow; 
and  so  turned  the  ghostly  tamaracks  ere  their  needles  fell.  Hard 
maples  and  oaks  grew  crimson  and  scarlet  and  the  blueberry 
bushes  and  sumachs  glowed  like  piles  of  fire. 

But  the  world  of  pines  darkened  to  a  deeper  emerald;  spruce 
and  hemlock  took  on  a  more  sober  hue;  and  the  flowing  splendour 
of  the  evergreens  now  robed  plain  and  mountain  in  sombre 
magnificence,  dully  brocaded  here  and  there  by  an  embroidery  of 
silver  balsam. 

When  I  was  strong  enough  to  trail  a  rifle  and  walk  my  post  on 
the  veranda  roof,  my  Saguenay  Indian  took  to  the  Drowned  Lands, 
scouting  the  meshed  water-leads  like  a  crested  diving-duck;  and 
his  canoe  nosed  into  every  creek  from  Mayfield  to  Fish  House. 

Nick  foraged,  netting  pigeons  on  the  Stacking  Ridge,  shooting 
partridge,  turkey,  and  squirrel  as  our  need  prompted,  or  dropping 
a  fat  doe  at  evening  on  the  clearing's  edge  beyond  Howell's  house. 

Of  fish  we  had  our  fill, — chain-pike  and  silver-pike  from 
Vlaie  Water;  trout  out  of  Hans  Creek  and  Frenchman's  Creek. 

Corn,  milled  grain,  and  pork  we  drew  a-horse  from  Johnstown 
or  Mayfield;  we  had  milk  and  butter  of  our  own  cows,  and 
roasting  ears  and  potatoes,  squash,  beets,  and  beans,  and  a  good 


THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

pumpkin  for  our  pies,  all  from  Summer  House  garden.  And  a 
great  store  of  apples — for  it  was  a  year  for  that  fruit — and  we 
had  so  many  that  Nick  pitted  scores  of  bushels;  and  we  used  them, 
to  eat,  also,  and  to  cook. 

Now,  against  first  frost,  Penelope  had  sewed  for  us  sacks  out 
o'  tow  cloth;  and  when  frost  came  to  moss  the  world  with  spongy 
silver,  we  went  after  nuts,  Nick  and  I, — chestnuts  from  the 
Stacking  Ridge,  and  gathered  beechnuts  there,  also.  Butternuts 
we  found,  sticky  and  a-plenty,  along  the  Sacandaga;  and  hickory 
nuts  on  every  ridge,  and  hazel  filberts  bordering  clearing  and 
windfall  in  low,  moist  woods. 

Sure  we  were  well  garnered  if  not  well  garrisoned  at  Summer 
House  when  the  first  snow  flakes  came  a-drifting  like  errant 
feathers  floating  from  a  wild-fowl  shot  in  mid-air. 

The  painted  leaves  dropped  in  November,  settling  earthward 
through  still  sunshine  in  gold  and  crimson  clouds. 

"Mother  Earth  hath  put  on  war-paint,"  quoth  Penelope,  knit- 
ting. She  spoke  to  Nick,  turning  her  head  slightly.  She  spoke 
chiefly  to  him  in  these  days,  I  having  become,  as  I  have  said,  a 
silent  ass;  and  so  strange  and  of  so  infrequent  speech  that  they 
did  not  even  venture  to  remark  to  me  my  reticence;  and  I  think 
they  thought  my  hurt  had  changed  me  in  my  mind  and  nature. 
Yet  I  was  but  a  simple  ass,  differing  only  from  other  asses  in 
that  they  brayed  more  frequently  than  I. 

In  silence  I  nursed  a  challenging  in  my  breast,  where  love 
should  have  lain  secure  and  warm;  and  I  wrapped  the  feverish, 
mewling  thing  in  envy,  jealousy,  and  sullen  pride, — fit  rags  to 
swaddle  such  a  waif. 

For  once,  coming  upon  Penelope  unawares,  I  did  see  her  gazing 
upon  a  miniature  picture  of  Steve  Watts,  done  bravely  in  his 
red  regimentals. 

Which,  perceiving  me,  she  hid  in  her  bosom  and  took  her  milk- 
pails  to  the  orchard  without  a  word  spoken,  though  the  colour 
in  her  face  was  eloquent  enough. 

And  very  soon,  too,  I  had  learned  for  sure  what  I  already 
believed  of  her,  that  she  was  a  very  jade;  for  it  was  plain  that  she 
had  now  ensnared  Nick,  and  that  they  were  thick  as  a  pair  o' 
pup  hounds,  and  had  confidences  between  them  in  low  voices  and 
with  smiles.  Which  my  coming  checked  only  so  far.  For  it  was 
mostly  to  him  she  spoke  openly  at  table,  when,  the  smoking  dishes 
set,  she  took  her  seat  between  us,  out  o'  breath  and  sweet  as  a 
sun-hot  rose. 

God  knows  they  were  not  to  blame;  for  in  one  hour  I  might 


HAG-RIDDEN  209 

prove  glum  and  silent  as  a  stone;  and  in  another  I  practiced  care- 
lessness and  indifference  in  my  speech;  and  in  another,  still,  I 
was  like  to  be  garrulous  and  feverish,  insisting  upon  any  point 
raised;  laughing  without  decent  provocation;  moody  and  dull, 
loquacious  and  quarrelsome  hy  turns, — unstable,  unhinged,  out 
o'  balance  and  incapable  of  any  decent  equilibrium.  Oh,  the  sorry 
spectacle  a  young  man  makes  when  that  sly  snake,  jealousy,  hath 
fanged  him! 

And  my  disorder  was  such  that  I  knew  I  was  sick  o'  jealousy  and 
sore  hurt  of  it  to  the  bones,  yet  conducted  like  a  mindless  creature 
that,  trapped,  falls  to  mutilating  itself. 

And  so  I  was  ever  brooding  how  I  might  convince  her  of  my 
indifference;  how  I  might  pain  her  by  coldness;  how  I  might 
subtly  acquaint  her  of  my  own  desirability  and  then  punish 
her  by  a  display  of  contempt  and  a  mortifying  revelation  of  the 
unattainable.  Which  was  to  be  my  proper  self. 

Jealousy  is  sure  a  strange  malady  and  breaketh  out  in  divers  dis- 
orders in  different  young  men,  according  to  their  age  and  kind. 

I  was  jealous  because  she  had  been  courted  by  others;  was 
jealous  because  she  had  been  caressed  by  other  men;  I  was  wildly 
jealous  because  of  Steve  Watts,  their  tryst  by  the  lilacs;  his 
picture  which  I  discovered  she  wore  in  her  bosom;  I  was  madly 
jealous  of  her  fellowship  with  my  old  comrade,  Nick,  and  because, 
chilled  by  my  uncivil  conduct  and  by  my  silences,  she  conversed 
with  him  when  she  spoke  at  all. 

And  for  all  this  silly  grievance  I  had  no  warrant  nor  any  atom 
of  lucid  reason.  For  until  I  had  seen  her  no  woman  had  ever 
disturbed  me.  Until  that  spring  day  in  the  flowering  orchard  I 
had  never  desired  love;  and  if  I  even  desired  it  now  I  knew  not. 
I  had  certainly  no  desire  for  marriage  or  a  wife,  because  I  had  no 
thought  in  my  callow  head  of  either. 

Only  jealousy  of  others  and  a  desire  to  be  first  in  her  mind 
possessed  me, — a  fierce  wish  to  clear  out  this  rabble  of  suitors 
which  seemed  to  gather  in  a  very  swarm  wherever  she  passed, — • 
so  that  she  should  turn  to  me  alone,  lean  upon  me,  trust  only  me 
in  the  world  to  lend  her  countenance,  shelter  her,  and  defend 
her.  And,  though  God  knows  I  meant  her  no  wrong,  nor  had 
passion,  so  far,  played  any  role  in  this  my  ridiculous  behaviour, 
I  had  not  so  far  any  clear  intention  in  her  regard.  A  fierce  and 
selfish  longing  obsessed  me  to  drive  others  off  and  keep  her  for 
my  own  where  in  some  calm  security  we  could  learn  to  know 
each  other. 

And   this — though   I   did   not   understand    it — was    merely   the 


210  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

romantic  desire  of  a  very  young  man  to  study,  unhurried  and  un- 
troubled, the  first  female  who  ever  had  disturbed  his  peace  of  mind. 

But  all  was  vain  and  troubled  and  misty  in  my  mind,  and  love — 
or  its  fretful  changeling — weighed  on  my  heart  heavily.  But  I 
carried  double  weight:  jealousy  is  a  heavy  hag,  and  I  was  hag- 
ridden morn  and  eve  and  all  the  livelong  day  to  boot. 

All  asses  are  made  to  be  ridden. 

The  first  snow  came,  as  I  have  said,  like  shot-scattered  down 
from  a  wild-duck's  breast.  Then  days  of  golden  stillness,  with 
mornings  growing  ever  colder  and  the  frost  whitening  shady 
spots  long  after  sun-up. 

I  remember  a  bear  swam  Vlaie  Water,  but  galloped  so  swiftly 
into  the  bush  that  no  rifle  was  ready  to  stop  him. 

We  mangered  our  cattle  o'  nights;  and,  as  frosty  grazing 
checks  milk  flow,  Nick  and  I  brought  in  hay  from  the  stacks 
which  the  Continental  soldiers  had  cut  against  a  long  occupation 
of  Summer  House  Point. 

Nights  had  become  very  cold  and  we  burned  logs  all  day  long 
in  the  chimney  place.  My  Indian  was  snug  enough  in  the  kitchen 
by  the  oven,  where  he  ate  and  slept  when  not  on  post;  and  we, 
above,  did  very  well  by  the  blaze  where  we  roasted  nuts  and  apples 
and  drank  new  cider  from  Johnstown  and  had  a  cask  of  ale  from 
the  Johnson  Arms  by  waggon. 

Also,  in  the  cellar,  was  some  store  of  Sir  William's — dusty 
bottles  of  French  and  Spanish  wines;  but  of  these  I  took  no  toll, 
because  they  belonged  not  to  me. 

But  a  strange  circumstance  presently  placed  these  wines  in  my 
possession;  for,  upon  a  day  before  the  first  deep  snow  fell,  comes 
galloping  from  Johnstown  a  man  in  caped  riding  coat,  one  Jerry 
Van  Rensselaer,  to  nail  a  printed  placard  upon  our  Summer 
House — notice  of  sale  by  the  Committee  for  Sequestration. 

But  who  was  to  read  this  notice  and  attend  the  vendue  save 
only  the  birds  and  beasts  of  the  wilderness  I  do  not  know;  for 
on  the  day  of  the  sale,  which  was  conducted  by  Commissioner 
Harry  Outthout,  only  some  half  dozer  farmer  folk  rode  hither 
from  Johnstown,  and  only  one  man  among  'em  bid  in  money — 
a  sullen  fellow  named  Jim  Huetson,  who  had  Tory  friends,  I 
knew,  if  he  himself  were  not  of  that  complexion. 

His  bid  was  £5 ;  which  was  but  a  beggarly  offer,  and  angered  me 
to  see  Sir  William's  beloved  Lodge  come  to  so  mean  an  end.  So, 
having  some  little  money,  I  showed  the  Schoharie  fellow  a  stern 
countenance,  doubled  his  bid,  and  took  snuff  which  I  do  not  love. 


L 
HAG-RIDDEN  211 

And  Lord !  Ere  I  realized  it,  Summer  House  Point,  Lodge  and 
contents,  and  riparian  rights  as  far  as  HowelPs  house  were  mine; 
and  a  clear  deed  promised. 

Bewildered,  I  signed  and  paid  the  Sequestration  Commissioner 
out  o'  my  buckskin  pouch  in  hard  coin. 

"You  should  buy  the  cattle,  too,"  whispered  Nick.  "There 
be  folk  in  Johnstown  would  pay  well  for  such  a  breed  o'  cow. 
And  there's  the  pig,  Jack,  and  the  sheep  and  the  hens,  and  all 
that  grain  and  hay  so  snug  in  the  barn." 

So  I  asked  very  fiercely  if  any  man  desired  to  bid  against  me; 
and  neither  Huetson  nor  his  sulky  comrade,  Davis,  having  any 
such  stomach,  I  fetched  ale  and  apples  and  nuts  and  made  them 
eat  and  drink,  and  so  drew  aside  the  Commissioner  and  bargained 
with  him  like  a  Jew  or  a  shoe-peg  Yankee;  and  in  the  end 
bought  all.* 

"Shall  you  move  hither  from  Fonda's  Bush  and  sell  your 
house?"  asked  Nick,  who  now  was  going  out  on  watch. 

But  I  made  him  no  answer,  for  I  had  been  bitten  by  an  idea, 
the  mere  thought  of  which  fevered  me  with  excitement.  Oh, 
I  was  mad  as  a  March  fox  running  his  first  vixen,  in  that  first 
tide  of  romantic  love, — clean  daft  and  lacking  reason. 

So  when  Commissioner  Outthout  and  those  who  had  come 
for  the  vendue  had  drank  as  much  of  my  new  ale  as  they  cared 
to  carry  home  ahorse,  and  were  gone  a-bumping  down  the  Johns- 
town road  like  a  flock  of  Gilpins  all,  I  took  my  parchment  and  went 
into  my  bed  chamber;  and  there  I  sat  upon  my  trundle  bed  and 
read  what  was  writ  upon  my  deed,  making  me  the  owner  of  Sum- 
mer House  and  of  all  that  appertained  to  the  little  hunting  lodge. 

But  I  had  not  purchased  it  selfishly;  and  the  whole  business 
began  with  an  impulse  born  of  love  for  Sir  William,  who  had 
loved  this  place  so  well.  But  even  as  that  impulse  came,  another 
notion  took  shape  in  my  love-addled  sconce. 

I  sat  on  my  trundle  bed  a-thinking  and — God  forgive  me — 
admiring  my  own  lofty  and  romantic  purpose. 

The  house  was  still,  but  on  the  veranda  roof  overhead  I  could 
hear  the  moccasined  tread  of  Nick  pacing  his  post;  and  from  be- 
low in  the  kitchen  came  the  distant  thump  and  splash  of  Penelope's 
churn,  where  she  was  making  new  butter  for  to  salt  it  against 
our  needs. 

Now,  as  I  rose  my  breath  came  quicker,  but  admiration  for 

*  The  Commissioners  for  selling  real  estate  in  Tryon  County  sold  the 
personal  property  of  Sir  John  Johnson  some  time  before  the  Hall  and 
acreage  \vere  sold.  The  Commissioners  appointed  for  selling  confiscated 
personal  property  in  Tryon  County  were  appointed  later,  March  6,  1777. 


212  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

my  resolve  abated  nothing — no! — rather  increased  as  I  tasted  the 
sad  pleasures  of  martyrdom  and  of  noble  renunciation.  For  I 
now  meant  to  figure  in  this  girl's  eyes  in  a  manner  which  she 
never  could  forget  and  which,  I  trusted,  might  sadden  her  with 
a  wistful  melancholy  after  I  was  gone  and  she  had  awakened 
to  the  irreparable  loss. 

When  I  came  down  into  the  kitchen  where,  bare  of  arms  and 
throat,  she  stood  a-churning,  she  looked  at  me  out  of  partly- 
lowered  eyes,  as  though  doubting  my  mood — poor  child.  And 
I  saw  the  sweat  on  her  flushed  cheeks,  and  her  yellow  hair,  in 
disorder  from  the  labour,  all  curled  into  damp  little  ringlets.  But 
when  I  smiled  I  saw  that  lovely  glimmer  dawning,  and  she  asked 
me  shyly  what  I  did  there — for  never  before  had  I  come  into  her 
kitchen. 

So,  still  smiling,  I  gave  an  account  of  how  I  had  bought  Summer 
House;  and  she  listened,  wide-eyed,  wondering. 

"But,"  continued  I,  "I  have  already  my  own  glebe  at  Fonda's 
Bush,  and  a  house;  but  there  be  many  with  whom  fortune  has 
not  been  so  complacent,  and  who  possess  neither  glebe  nor  roof, 
yet  deserve  both." 

"Yes,  sir,"  she  said,  smiling,  "there  be  many  such  folk  and 
always  will  be  in  the  world.  Of  such  company  am  I,  also,  but  it 
saddens  me  not  at  all." 

I  went  to  her  and  showed  her  my  deed,  and  she  looked  down 
on  it,  her  hands  clasped  on  the  churn  handle. 

"So  that,"  said  she,  "is  a  lawful  deed!  I  have  never  before 
been  shown  such  an  instrument." 

"You  shall  have  leisure  enough  to  study  this  one,"  said  I,  "for 
I  convey  it  to  you." 

"Sir?" 

"I  give  Summer  House  to  you,"  said  I.  "Here  is  the  deed. 
When  I  go  to  Johnstown  again  I  will  execute  it  so  that  this 
place  shall  be  yours." 

She  gazed  at  me  in  dumb  astonishment. 

"Meanwhile,"  said  I,  "you  shall  keep  the  deed.  .  .  .  And  now 
you  are,  in  fact,  if  not  yet  in  title,  mistress  of  Summer  House. 
And  I  think,  this  night,  we  should  brea"k  a  bottle  of  Sir  William's 
Madeira  to  drink  health  to  our  new  chatelaine." 

She  came  from  her  churn  and  caught  my  arm,  where  I  had 
turned  to  ascend  the  steps. 

"You  are  'jesting,  are  you  not,  my  lord  ?" 

"ITo!    And  do  not  use  that  term,  'lord,'  to  me." 


HAG-RIDDEN  213 

"You — you  offer  to  give  me — me — this  estate  1" 

"Yes.    I  do  give  it  you." 

There  was  a  tense  silence. 

"Why  do  you  offer  this?"  she  burst  out  breathlessly. 

"Why  should  I  have  two  estates  and  you  have  none,  Penelope?'7 

"But  that  is  no  reason!"  she  retorted,  almost  violently.  "For 
what  reason,  then,  do  you  give  me  Summer  House?  It — it  must 
be  you  are  jesting,  my  lord! " 

At  that,  displeasure  made  me  redden,  and  I  damned  the  title 
under  my  breath. 

"If  you  please,"  said  I,  "you  will  have  done  with  all  these 
'sirs'  and  'my  lords,'  for  I  am  a  plain  yoeman  of  County  Tryon 
and  wear  a  buckskin  shirt.  Not  that  I  would  criticise  Lord 
Stirling  or  any  such  who  still  care  to  wear  by  courtesy  what  I 
have  long  ago  worn  out,"  I  added,  "but  the  gentry  and  nobility 
of  Tryon  travel  one  way  and  I  the  other;  and  my  friends  should 
remember  it  when  naming  me." 

She  stood  looking  at  me  out  of  her  brown  eyes,  and  slowly 
their  troubled  wonder  changed  to  dumb  perplexity.  And,  looking, 
took  up  her  apron's  edge  and  stood  twisting  it  between  both  hands. 

"I  give  you  Summer  House,"  said  I,  "because  you  are  orphaned 
and  live  alone  and  have  nothing.  I  give  it  because  a  maid 
ought  to  possess  a  portion;  and,  thirdly,  I  give  it  because  I  have 
enough  of  my  own,  and  never  desired  more  of  anything  than  I 
need.  So  take  the  Summer  House,  Penelope,  with  the  cattle  and 
fowl  and  land ;  for  it  gives  you  a  station  and  a  security  among  men 
and  women  of  this  odd  world  of  ours,  and  lends  to  yourself  a  con- 
fidence and  dignity  which  only  sheerest  folly  can  overthrow." 

She  came,  after  a  silence,  slowly,  and  took  me  by  the  hand. 

"John  Drogue,"  says  she  in  a  voice  not  clear,  "I  can  not  take 
of  you  this  estate." 

"You  shall  take  it!  And  when  again,  where  you  sit  a-knitting, 
the  young  men  gather  round  you  like  flies  around  a  sap-pan — 
then,  by  God,  you  shall  know  what  countenance  to  give  them,  and 
they  shall  know  what  colour  to  give  their  courting! — suitors, 
gallants,  Whig  or  Tory — the  whole  damned  rabble " 

"Oh,"  she  cried  softly,  "John  Drogue!"  And  fell  a-laughing 
— or  was  it  a  quick  sob  that  checked  her  throat? 

But  I  heeded  it  not,  having  caught  fire;  and  presently  blazed 
noisily. 

"Because  you  are  servant  to  Douw  Fonda!"  I  cried,  "and  be- 
cause you  are  alone,  and  because  you  are  young  and  soft  with 
a  child's  eyes  and  yellow  hair,  they  make  nothing  of  schooling 


214  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

you  to  their  pot-house  gallantries,  and  every  damned  man  jack 
among  them  comes  a-galloping  to  the  chase.  Yes,  even  that 
pallid  beast,  Sir  John ! — and  the  tears  of  Claire  Putnam  to  haunt 
him  if  he  were  a  man  and  not  the  dirty  libertine  he  is!" 

I  looked  upon  her  whitened  face  in  ever-rising  passion: 

"I  tell  you,"  said  I,  "that  the  backwoods  aristocracy  is  the  bet- 
ter and  safer  caste,  for  the  other  is  rotten  under  red  coat  or 
blue;  and  a  ring-tailed  cap  doffed  by  a  gnarled  hand  is  worth  all 
your  laced  cocked  hats  bound  around  with  gold  and  trailed  in 
the  dust  with  fine,  smooth  fingers!" 

Sure  I  was  in  a  proper  phrensy  now,  nor  dreamed  myself  a 
target  for  the  high  gods'  laughter,  where  I  vapoured  and  strode 
and  shouted  aloud  my  moral  jeremiad. 

"So,"  said  I,  "you  shall  have  Summer  House;  and  shall,  as  you 
sit  a-knitting,  make  your  choice  of  honest  suitors  at  your  ease 
and  not  be  waylaid  and  hunted  and  used  without  ceremony  by  the 
first  young  hot-head  who  entraps  you  in  the  starlight!  No!  Nor 
be  the  quarry  of  older  villains  and  subtler  with  persuasion.  No! 

"For  today  Penelope  Grant,  spinster,  is  a  burgesse  of  Johns- 
town, and  is  a  person  both  respectable  and  taxed.  And  any  man 
who  would  court  her  must  conduct  suitably  and  in  a  customary 
manner,  nor,  like  a  wild  falcon,  circle  over  head  awaiting  the  op- 
portunity to  strike. 

"No!  All  that  sport — all  that  gay  laxity  and  folly  is  at  an 
end.  And  here's  the  damned  deed  that  ends  it!"  I  added,  thrust- 
ing the  parchment  into  her  hands. 

She  seemed  white  and  frightened.  And,  "Oh,  Lord!"  she 
breathed,  "have  I,  then,  conducted  so  shamelessly?  And  did  I 
so  wholly  lose  your  favour  when  you  kissed  me?" 

I  had  not  meant  that,  and  I  winced  and  grew  hot  in  the  cheeks. 

"I  am  not  a  loose  woman,"  she  said  in  her  soft,  bewildered  way. 
"Unless  it  be  a  fault  that  I  find  men  somewhat  to  my  liking,  and 
their  gay  manners  pleasure  me  and  divert  me." 

I  said:  "You  have  a  way  with  men.  None  is  insensible  to 
your  youth  and  beauty." 

"Is  it  so?"  she  asked  innocently. 

"Are  you  not  aware  of  it?" 

"I  had  thought  that  I  pleased." 

"You  do  so.  Best  tread  discreetly.  Best  consider  carefully  now. 
Then  choose  one  and  dismiss  the  rest." 

"Choose?" 

"Aye." 

"Whom  should  I  choose,  John  Drogue?" 


HAG-RIDDEN  215 

"Why,"  said  I,  losing  countenance,  "there  is  the  same  ardent 
rabble  like  that  plague  of  suitors  which  importuned  the  Greek 
Penelope.  There  are  the  sap-pan  flies  all  buzzing." 

"Oh.     Should  I  make  a  choice  if  entreated?" 

"A  burgesse  is  free  to  choose." 

"Oh.     And  to  which  suitor  should  I  give  my  smile  f 

"Well,"  said  I,  sullenly,  "there  is  Nick.  There  also  is  your 
Cornet  of  Horse — young  Jack-boots.  And  there  is  the  young 
gentleman  whose  picture  you  wear  in  your  bosom." 

"Captain  Watts?"  she  asked,  so  naively  that  jealousy  stabbed 
me  instantly,  so  that  my  smile  became  a  grimace. 

"Sure,"  said  I,  "you  think  tenderly  on  Stephen  Watts." 

"Yes." 

"In  fact,"  I  almost  groaned,  "you  entertain  for  him  those 
virtuous  sentiments  not  unbecoming  to  the  maiden  of  his  choice. 
.  .  .  Do  you  not,  Penelope?" 

"He  has  courted  me  a  year.  I  find  him  agreeable.  Also,  1 
pity  him — although  his  impatience  causes  me  concern  and  his 
ardour  inconveniences  me.  .  .  .  The  sentiments  I  entertain  for 
him  are  virtuous,  as  you  say,  sir.  And  so  are  my  sentiments 
for  any  man." 

"But  is  not  your  heart  engaged  in  this  affair?" 

"With  Captain  Watts  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Oh,  I  thought  you  meant  with  you,  sir." 

I  affected  to  smile,  but  my  heart  thumped  my  ribs. 

"I  have  not  pretended  to  your  heart,  Penelope." 

"No,  sir.  Nor  I  to  yours.  And,  for  the  matter,  know  noth- 
ing concerning  hearts  and  the  deeper  pretensions  to  secret  pas- 
sions of  which  one  hears  so  much  in  gossip  and  romance.  No, 
sir;  I  am  ignorant.  Yet,  I  have  thought  that  kindness  might 
please  a  woman  more  easily  than  sighs  and  vapours.  .  .  .  Or  so 
it  seems  to  me.  .  .  .  And  that  impatient  ardour  only  perplexes. 
.  .  .  And  passion  often  chills  the  natural  pity  that  a  woman  en- 
tertains for  any  man  who  vows  he  is  unhappy  and  must  presently 
perish  of  her  indifference.  .  .  . 

"Yet  I  am  not  indifferent  to  men.  .  .  .  And  have  used  men 
gently.  .  .  .  And  forgiven  them.  .  .  .  Being  not  hard  but  pitiful 
by  disposition." 

She  made  a  movement  of  unconscious  grace  and  drew  from 
her  bosom  the  little  picture  of  Steve  Watts. 

"You  see,"  said  she,  "I  guard  it  tenderly.  But  he  went  off  in 
a  passion  and  rebuked  me  bitterly  for  my  coquetry  and  because 


216  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

I  refused  to  flee  with  him  to  Canada.  .  .  .  He,  being  an  enemy 
to  liberty,  I  would  not  consent.  ...  I  love  my  country.  .  .  . 
And  better  than  I  love  any  man." 

"He  begged  an  elopement  that  night?" 

<Tes." 

"With  marriage  promised,  doubtless." 

"Lord,"  says  she,  "I  had  not  thought  so  far." 

"Did  he  not  promise  it?" 

"No,  sir." 

"What?    Nor  mention  it?" 

"I  did  not  hear  him." 

"But  in  his  courtship  of  a  year  surely  he  conducted  honestly!" 
I  insisted  angrily. 

"Should  a  man  ask  marriage  when  he  asks  love,  Mr.  Drogue?" 

"If  he  means  honestly  he  must  speak  of  it." 

"Oh.  ...  I  did  not  understand.  ...  I  thought  that  love,  of- 
fered, meant  marriage  also.  ...  I  thought  they  all  meant  that 
— save  only  Sir  John." 

We  both  fell  silent.  After  a  little  while:  "I  shall  some  day 
ask  Captain  Watts  what  he  means,"  said  she,  thoughtfully. 
"Surely  he  must  know  I  am  a  maiden." 

"Do  you  suppose  such  young  men  care!"  I  said  sullenly. 

But  she  seemed  so  white  and  distressed  at  the  thought  that 
the  sneer  died  on  my  lips  and  I  made  a  great  effort  to  do  gen- 
erously by  my  old  school-mate,  Stevie  Watts. 

"Surely,"  said  I,  "he  meant  no  disrespect  and  no  harm.  Stephen 
Watts  is  not  of  the  corrupt  breed  of  Walter  Butler  nor  de- 
bauched like  Sir  John.  .  .  .  However,  if  he  is  to  be  your  lover 
• — perhaps  it  were  convenient  to  ask  him  something  concerning 
his  respectful  designs  upon  you." 

"Yes,  sir,  I  shall  do  so — if  he  comes  hither  again." 

So  hope,  which  had  fallen  a-flickering,  expired  like  a  tiny  flame. 
She  loved  Steve  Watts ! 

I  turned  and  limped  up  the  stairway. 

And,  at  the  stair-head,  met  Nick. 

"Well,"  said  I  savagely,  "you  may  not  have  her.  For  she  loves 
Steve  Watts  and  dotes  on  his  picture  in  her  bosom.  And  as 
for  you,  you  may  go  to  the  devil !" 

"Why,  you  sorry  ass,"  says  he,  "have  you  thought  I  desired 
her?" 

"Do  you  not?" 

"Good  God!"  cried  he,  "because  this  poor  and  moon-smitten 
gentleman  hath  rolled  sheep's  eyes  upon  a  yellow-haired  maid, 


HAG-RIDDEN  217 

then,  in  his  mind,  all  the  world's  aflame  to  woo  her  too  and  take 
her  from  his  honest  arms!  What  the  plague  do  I  want  of  your 
sweetheart,  Jack  Drogue,  when  I've  one  at  Pigeon  Wood  and  my 
eye  on  another,  too!" 

Then  he  fell  a-laughing  and  smote  his  thighs  with  a  loud  slap- 
ping. 

"Aha!"  he  cried,  "did  I  not  warn  you?  Did  I  not  foresee, 
foretell,  and  prophesy  that  you  would  one  day  sicken  of  a  pas- 
sion for  this  yellow-haired  girl  from  Caughnawaga !" 

"Idiot,"  said  I  in  a  rage,  "I  do  not  love  her!" 

"Then  you  bear  all  the  earmarks !"  said  he,  and  went  off  stamp- 
ing his  moccasins  and  roaring  with  laughter. 

And  I  went  on  watch  to  walk  my  post  all  a-tremble  with  fury, 
and  fair  sick  of  jealousy  and  my  first  boyish  passion. 

Now,  it  is  a  strange  thing  how  love  undid  me;  but  it  is  still 
stranger  how,  of  a  sudden,  my  malady  passed.  And  it  came 
about  in  this  way,  that  toward  sunset  one  day,  when  I  came  from 
walking  my  post  on  the  veranda  roof  to  find  why  Nick  had  not 
relieved  me,  I  descended  the  stairs  and  looked  into  the  kitchen, 
where  was  a  pleasant  smell  of  cinnamon  crullers  fresh  made  and 
of  johnnycake  and  of  meat  a-stewing. 

And  there  I  did  see  Nick  push  Penelope  into  a  corner  to  kiss 
her,  and  saw  her  fetch  him  a  clout  with  her  open  hand. 

Then  again,  and  broad  on  his  surprised  and  silly  face,  fell 
her  little  hand  like  the  clear  crack  of  a  drover's  whip. 

And,  "There!"  she  falters,  out  o'  breath,  "there's  for  you,  friend 
Nicholas!" 

"My  God!"  says  he,  in  foolish  amaze,  "why  do  you  that, 
Penelope !" 

"I  kiss  whom  I  please  and  none  other!"  says  she,  fast  breath- 
ing, and  her  dark  eyes  wide  and  bright. 

"Whom  you  please,"  quoth  Nick,  abashed  but  putting  a  bold 
face  on  it — "well  then,  you  please  me,  and  therefore  ought  to 
kiss  me " 

"No,  I  will  not!  John  Drogue  hath  shown  me  what  is  my 
privilege  in  this  idle  game  of  bussing  which  men  seem  so  ready  to 
play  with  me,  whether  I  will  or  no !  .  .  .  Have  I  hurt  you,  Nick  ?" 

She  came  up  to  him,  still  flushed  and  her  childish  bosom  still 
rising  and  falling  fast. 

"You  love  Jack  Drogue,"  said  he,  sulkily,  "and  therefore  be- 
labour me  who  dote  on  you." 

"I  love  you  both,"  said  she,  "but  I  am  enamoured  of  neither. 


218  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

Also,  I  desire  no  kisses  of  you  or  of  Mr.  Drogue,  but  only  kind- 
ness and  good  will." 

"You  entertain  a  passion  for  Steve  Watts!"  he  muttered  sul- 
lenly, "and  there's  the  riddle  read  for  you!" 

But  she  laughed  in  his  face  and  took  up  her  pan  of  crullers 
and  set  them  on  the  shelf. 

"I  am  chatelaine  of  Summer  House,"  said  she,  "and  need  ren- 
der no  account  of  my  inclinations  to  you  or  to  any  man.  Who 
would  learn  for  himself  what  is  in  my  mind  must  court  me  civ- 
illy and  in  good  order.  .  .  .  Do  you  desire  leave  to  court  me, 
Nick?" 

"Not  I! — to  be  beaten  by  a  besom  and  flouted  and  mocked  to 
boot!  Nenni,  my  pretty  lass!  I  have  had  my  mouthful  of 
blows." 

"Oh.  And  your  comrade?  Is  he,  do  you  think,  inclined  to 
court  me?" 

"Jack  Drogue?" 

"The  same." 

"You  have  bedeviled  him,"  said  Nick  sulkily,  "as  you  have 
witched  all  men  who  encounter  you.  He  hath  a  fever  and  is 
sick  of  it." 

She  was  slicing  hot  johnnycake  with  a  knife  in  the  pan;  and 
now  looked  up  at  him  with  eyes  full  of  curiosity. 

"Bewitched  him?    I?" 

"Surely.    Who  else,  then?" 

"You  are  jesting,  Nick." 

"No.  Like  others  he  has  taken  the  Caughnawaga  fever.  The 
very  air  you  breathe  is  full  of  it.  But,  with  a  man  like  my  com- 
rade, it  is  no  more  than  a  fever.  And  it  passes,  pretty  maid! — 
it  passes." 

"Does  it  so  ?" 

"It  does.    It  burns  out  folly  and  leaves  him  the  healthier." 

"Oh,  then — with  a  gentleman  like  your  comrade,  Mr.  Drogue — 
1' amour  n'est  qu'une  maladie  legere  qui  se  guerira  sans  medecin, 
n'est  ce  pas?" 

"Say  that  in  Canada  and  doubtless  the  very  dicky-birds  wil] 
answer  wee- wee-wee !"  he  retorted.  "But  if  you  mean,  does  John 
Drogue  mate  below  his  proper  caste,  then  there's  no  wee-wee-wee 
about  it;  for  that  the  Laird  of  Northesk  will  never  do!" 

"I  know  that,"  said  she  coolly.  And  opened  the  pot  to  fork 
the  steaming  stew,  then  set  on  the  cover  and  passed  her  hand 
over  her  brow  where  a  slight  dew  glistened  and  where  her  hair 
curled  paler  gold  and  tighter,  like  a  child's. 


HAG-RIDDEN  219 

"Friend  Nick?" 

"I  hear  thee,  breeder  of  heart-troubles." 

"Listen,  then.  No  thought  of  me  should  trouble  any  man  as 
yet.  My  heart  is  not  awake — not  troublesome, — not  engaged, — 
no,  not  even  to  poor  Stephen  Watts.  For  the  sentiment  I  en- 
tertain for  him  is  only  pity  for  a  boy,  Nick,  who  is  impetuous 
and  rash  and  has  been  too  much  flattered  by  the  world.  .  .  . 
Poor  lad — in  his  play-hour  regimentals! — and  no  beard  on  his 
smooth  cheek.  .  .  .  Just  a  fretful,  idle,  and  self-indulgent  boy! 
.  .  .  Who  protests  that  he  loves  me.  .  .  .  Oh,  no,  Nick!  Men 
sometimes  bewilder  me;  but  I  think  it  is  our  own  passion  that 
destroys  us  women — not  theirs.  .  .  .  And  there  is  none  in  me, — 
only  pity,  and  a  great  friendliness  to  men.  .  .  .  And  these  only 
have  ever  moved  me." 

He  was  sitting  on  a  pine  table  and  munching  of  a  cruller. 
"Penelope,"  says  he,  "your  honesty  and  wholesome  spirit  should 
physic  men  of  their  meaner  passions.  If  you  are  servant  to 
Douw  Fonda,  nevertheless  you  think  like  a  great  lady.  And  I 
for  one,"  he  added,  munching  away,  "shall  quarrel  with  any  man 
who  makes  little  of  the  mistress  of  Summer  House  Point!" 

And  then — oh,  Lord! — she  turns  from  her  oven,  takes  his  silly 
head  between  both  hands,  and  gives  him  a  smack  on  the  lips! 

"There,"  says  she,  "you  have  had  of  your  sister  what  you 
never  should  have  had  of  the  Scottish  lass  of  Caughnawaga !" 

He  got  off  the  table  at  that,  looking  mighty  pleased  but  sheep- 
ish, and  muttered  something  concerning  relieving  me  on  post. 

And  so,  lest  I  should  be  disgraced  by  my  eavesdropping,  and 
feeling  mean  and  degraded,  yet  oddly  contented  that  Penelope 
loved  no  man  with  secret  passion,  I  slunk  away,  my  moccasins 
making  no  sound. 

So  when  Nick  came  to  relieve  me  he  discovered  me  still  on 
post ;  and  said  he  pettishly :  "Penelope  Grant  hath  clouted  me, 
mind  and  body;  and  I  am  the  better  man  by  it,  though  some- 
what sore;  and  I  shall  knock  the  head  of  any  popinjay  who  fails 
in  the  respect  all  owe  this  girl.  And  I  wish  to  God  I  had  a 
hickory  stick  here,  and  Sir  John  Johnson  across  my  knee!" 

I  went  into  my  chamber  and  laid  me  down  on  my  trundle  bed. 

I  was  contented.  I  no  longer  seemed  to  burn  for  the  girl. 
Also,  I  knew  she  burned  for  no  man.  A  vast  sense  of  relief 
spread  over  me  like  a  soft  garment,  warming  and  soothing  me. 

And  so,  pleasantly  passed  my  sick  passion  for  the  Scottish 
girl;  and  pleasantly  I  fell  asleep. 


CHAPTER  xxrn 

WINTER  AND  SPRING 

SNOW  came  as  it  comes  to  us  in  the  Northland — a  blinding 
fall,  heavy  and  monotonous — and  in  forty-eight  hours  the 
Johnstown  Road  was  blocked. 

Followed  a  day  of  dazzling  sunshine  and  intense  cold,  which 
set  our  timbers  cracking;  and  the  snow,  like  finest  flour,  creaked 
under  our  snow-shoes. 

All  the  universe  had  turned  to  blue  and  silver;  and  the  Vlaie 
Water  ran  fathomless  purple  between  its  unstained  snows.  But 
that  night  the  clouds  returned  and  winds  grew  warmer,  and  soon 
the  skies  opened  with  feathery  white  volleys,  and  the  big,  thick 
flakes  stormed  down  again,  obliterating  alike  the  work  of  nature 
and  of  man. 

Summer  House  was  covered  to  the  veranda  eaves.  We  made 
shovels  and  cleared  the  roofs  and  broke  paths  to  stable  and  well. 

Here,  between  dazzling  ramparts,  we  lived  and  moved  and 
had  our  being,  week  after  week;  and  every  new  snow-storm  piled 
higher  our  palisades  and  buried  the  whole  land  under  one  vast 
white  pall. 

Vlaie  Water  froze  three  feet  solid;  fierce  winds  piled  the  ice 
with  gigantic  drifts  so  that  no  man  could  mark  the  course  of 
the  creeks  any  more;  and  a  vast  white  desolation  stretched  away 
to  the  mountains,  broken  only  by  naked  hard-wood  forests  or 
by  the  interminable  ocean  of  the  pines  weighted  deep  with  snow. 

Only  when  a  crust  came  were  we  at  any  pains  to  set  a  watch 
against  a  war  party  from  the  Canadas.  But  none  arrived;  no 
signal  smoke  stained  the  peaks;  nothing  living  stirred  on  that 
dead  white  waste  save  those  little  grey  and  whining  birds  which 
creep  all  day  up  and  down  tree-trunks,  or  a  sudden  gusty  flight 
of  snow-birds,  which  suddenly  arrive  from  nowhere  and  are  gone 
as  suddenly. 

Once  a  white  owl  with  yellow  eyes  sat  upon  the  ridge-pole  of 
our  barn;  but  our  pullets  were  safe  within,  and  Penelope  drove 
him  away  with  snowballs. 

The  deer  yarded  on  Maxon;  lynx- tracks  circled  our  house  and 

220 


WINTER  AND  SPRING  221 

barn,  and  we  sometimes  heard  old  tassel-ears  a-miauling  on  the 
Stacking  Ridge. 

And,  toward  the  end  of  February,  there  were  two  panthers 
that  left  huge  cat-prints  across  the  drifts  on  the  Johnstown 
Road;  but  they  took  no  toll  of  our  sheep,  which  were  safe  in  a 
stone  fold,  though  the  oaken  door  to  it  bore  marks  of  teeth  and 
claws,  where  the  pumas  had  striven  hard  to  break  in  and  do 
murder. 

Save  when  a  crust  formed  and  we  took  our  turns  on  guard, 
my  Indian  rolled  himself  in  bear-furs  by  the  kitchen  oven,  and 
like  a  bear  he  slept  there  until  hunger  awoke  him  long  enough 
to  gorge  for  another  stretch  of  sleep. 

Nick  and  I  took  axes  to  the  woods  and  drew  logs  on  a  sledge 
to  split  for  fire  use.  Our  tasks,  too,  kept  us  busy  feeding  our 
live  creatures,  fetching  water,  keeping  paths  open,  and  fishing 
through  the  ice. 

In  idler  intervals  we  carved  devices  upon  our  powder-horns, 
cured  deer-skins  in  the  Oneida  fashion,  boiled  pitch  and  mended 
our  canoe,  fashioned  paddles,  poles,  and  shafts  for  fish-spears, 
strung  snow-shoes,  built  a  fine  sledge  out  of  ash  and  hickory, 
and  made  Kaya  draw  us  on  the  crust. 

So,  all  day,  each  was  busy  with  tasks  and  duties,  and  had  little 
leisure  left  for  that  dull  restlessness  which,  in  idle  people,  is  the 
root  of  all  the  mischief  they  devise  to  do. 

Penelope  mended  our  clothing  and  knitted  mittens  and  jerkins. 
All  house-work  and  cooking  she  accomplished,  and  milked  and 
churned  and  cared  for  the  pullets.  Also,  she  dipped  candles  and 
moulded  bullets  from  the  lead  bars  I  found  in  the  gun-room. 
And  when  our  deer-skins  were  cured  and  softened,  she  made  for 
us  soft  wallets,  sacks,  and  pouches,  and  sewed  upon  them  bright 
beads  in  the  Oneida  fashion,  from  the  pack  of  trade  beads  in 
Sir  William's  gun-room.  She  sewed  upon  every  accoutrement  a 
design  done  in  scarlet  beads,  showing  a  picture  of  a  little  red 
foot. 

Lord,  but  we  meant  to  emerge  from  our  snows  in  brave  fashion, 
come  spring-tide;  for  now  our  deer-skin  garments  were  splendid 
with  beads,  and  our  fringes  were  green  and  purple.  Also,  Nick 
had  trapped  it  some  when  opportunity  offered,  setting  his  line 
from  Summer  House  along  Vlaie  Water  to  Howell's  house, 
thence  across  the  frozen  Drowned  Lands  to  the  Stacking  Ridge, 
and  from  there  back  over  the  Spring  Pool,  and  thence  down-creek 
to  the  Sacandaga,  where  Fish  House  stood  with  its  glazed  win- 
dows empty  as  a  blind  man's  eyes. 


222  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

He  had,  by  March,  a  fine  pack  of  peltry;  and  of  these  we  cured 
and  used  sufficient  muskrat  to  sew  us  blankets,  and  made  a  man- 
tle of  otter  for  Penelope  and  a  hood  and  muff  to  match. 

For  ourselves  we  made  us  caps  out  of  black  mink,  and  sewed 
all  together  by  our  dip-lights  in  the  red  firelight,  where  apples 
slowly  sizzled  with  the  rich,  sweet  perfume  I  love  to  smell. 

Sometimes  Nick  played  upon  his  fife;  and  sometimes  we  all 
told  stories  and  roasted  chestnuts.  Nick  had  more  stories  and 
more  imagination  than  had  I,  and  a  livelier  wit  in  the  telling 
of  tales.  But  chiefly  I  was  willing  to  hear  Penelope  when  she 
told  us  of  her  childhood  in  France,  and  how  folk  lived  in  that 
warm  and  sweet  country,  and  what  were  their  daily  customs. 

Also,  she  sang  sometimes  children's  songs  of  France,  and  other 
pretty  ballads,  mostly  concerning  love.  For  the  French  occupy 
themselves  chiefly  with  love  and  cooking  and  the  fine  arts,  I 
judge,  and  know  how  to  make  an  art  of  eating,  also.  For  there 
in  France  every  meal  is  a  ceremony;  but  in  this  land  we  eat 
not  for  the  pleasurable  taste  which,  in  savory  food,  delights  and 
tempts,  but  we  eat  swiftly  and  carelessly  and  chiefly  to  stay 
our  hunger. 

Yet,  at  times,  food  smacks  smartly  to  my  tongue;  as  when 
at  Christmas  tide  I  shot  a  great  wild  turkey  on  the  Stacking 
Ridge;  and  when  Penelope  basted  it  in  the  kitchen  my  mouth 
watered  as  I  sniffed  the  door-crack. 

And  again,  gone  stale  with  soupaan  and  jerked  meat  and  fish 
soused  or  dried  with  salt,  Nick  shot  a  yearling  buck  near  our 
barn  at  daylight;  and  the  savour  of  his  cooking  filled  all  with 
pleasure. 

Upon  the  New  Year  we  made  a  feast  and  had  a  bottle  of  Sir 
William's  port,  another  of  Madiera,  a  punch  of  spirits,  and  three 
pewters  of  buttery  ale. 

Lord!  there  was  a  New  Year.  And  first,  not  daring  to  give 
drink  to  my  Saguenay,  we  fed  him  till  he  was  gorged,  and  so 
rolled  him  in  a  pile  of  furs  till  he  slept  by  the  oven  below.  Then 
we  set  twenty  dips  afire  by  the  chimney,  and  filled  it  up  with 
dry  logs.  ...  I  am  sorry  we  had  so  little  sense;  for  I  was  some- 
thing fuddled,  and  sang  ballads — which  I  can  not — and  Nick 
would  dance,  which  he  did  by  himself;  and  his  hornpipes  and 
pigeon-wings  and  shuffles  and  war-dances  made  my  head  spin 
and  my  heavy  eyes  desire  to  cross. 

Penelope's  cheeks  burned,  and  she  fanned  and  fanned  her  with 
a  turkey  wing  and  laughed  to  see  Nick  caper  and  to  hear  the 
piteous  squalling  which  was  my  way  of  singing. 


WINTER  AND  SPRING  223 

But  she  complained  that  the  dip-lights  danced  and  that  the 
floor  behaved  in  strange  fashion,  running  like  ripples  on  Ylaie 
Water  in  a  west  wind. 

She  had  sipped  but  one  glass  of  Sir  William's  port,  but  I  think 
it  was  a  glass  too  much;  for  the  wine  made  her  so  hot,  so  she 
vowed,  that  her  body  was  all  one  ardent  coal,  and  so  presently 
she  pulled  the  hair-pegs  from  her  hair  and  let  it  down  and 
shook  it  out  in  the  fire-light  till  it  flashed  like  a  golden  scarf 
flung  about  her. 

Her  pannier  basque  of  rose  silk — gift  of  Claudia  and  made  in 
France — she  presently  slipped  out  of,  leaving  her  in  her  petti- 
coat and  folded  like  a  Quakeress  in  her  crossed  foulard,  and  her 
white  arms  as  bare  as  her  neck. 

Which  innocently  concerned  her  not  a  whit,  nor  had  she  any 
more  thought  of  her  throat's  loveliness  than  she  had  of  herself 
in  her  shift  that  morning  at  Bowman's. 

She  sat  cooling  her  face  with  the  turkey-wing  fan  and  watch- 
ing Nick's  contre-dancing — his  own  candle-cast  shadow  on  the 
wall  dancing  vis-a-vis — and  she  laughed  and  laughed,  a-fanning 
there,  like  a  child  delighted  by  the  antics  of  two  older  brothers, 
while  Nick  whirled  on  moccasined  feet  in  his  mad  career,  and  I 
fifed  windily  to  time  his  gambolading. 

Then  we  played  country  games,  but  she  would  not  kiss  us  as 
forfeit,  defending  her  lips  and  vowing  that  no  man  should  ever 
again  take  that  toll  of  her. 

Which  contented  me,  though  I  remonstrated;  and  I  was  glad 
that  Nick  should  not  cheapen  her  lips  though  it  cost  me  the 
same  privilege.  For  we  played  "Swallow!  Swallow!"  and  I 
guessed  correctly  how  many  apple  pips  she  held  in  her  hand 
when  she  sang: 

"Who  can  count  the  swallow's  eggs? 
Try  it,  Master  Nimble- legs! 
Climb  and  find  a  swallow's  nest, 
Count  the  eggs  beneath  her  breast, 
Take  an  egg  and  leave  the  rest 
And  kiss  the  maid  you  love  the  best!" 

But  it  was  her  hand  only  we  might  kiss,  and  but  one  finger 
£t  that — the  smallest — for,  says  she,  "John  Drogue  hath  said  it, 
and  I  am  mistress  of  Summer  House!  What  I  choose  to  give — 
or  forgive — is  of  my  proper  choice.  .  .  .  And  I  do  not  choose  to 
be  kissed  by  any  man  whether  he  wears  silk  puce  or  deerskin 
shirt!" 


224  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

But  the  devil  prompted  me  to  remember  Steve  Watts,  and  my 
countenance  changed. 

"Do  you  bar  regimentals?"  I  asked,  forcing  a  wry  smile. 

She  knew  what  was  in  my  mind,  for  jealousy  grinned  at  her 
out  of  my  every  feature;  and  she  came  toward  me  and  laid  her 
light  hand  upon  my  arm. 

"Or  red  coat  or  blue,  my  lord,"  she  said,  her  smile  fading  to 
a  glimmer,  "men  have  had  of  me  my  last  complaisance.  Are 
you  not  content?  You  taught  me,  sir." 

"If  he  taught  you  that  a  kiss  is  folly,  he  taught  you  more 
folly  tnan  is  in  a  thousand  kisses !"  cries  Nick.  "Why,"  said 
he,  turning  on  me,  "you  pitiful,  sober-faced,  broad-brimmed  spoil' 
sport!"  says  he,  "what  are  lips  made  for,  you  meddlesome  ass, 
and  be  damned  to  you!" 

Instantly  we  were  in  clinch  like  two  bears;  and  we  wrestled 
and  strained  and  swayed  there,  panting  and  nigh  stifled  with 
our  laughter,  till  we  fell  with  a  crash  that  shopk  the  house  and 
set  the  bottles  clinking;  and  there  thrashed  like  a  pair  o'  pupa 
till  I  got  his  shoulders  flat. 

But  it  was  nothing — he  being  the  younger — and  he  leaped  up 
and  fell  to  treading  an  Oneida  battle-dance,  while  Penelope  and 
I  did  beat  upon  the  table,  singing: 

"Ha-wa-sa-say ! 
Hah! 
Ha-wa-sa-say — " 

till  the  door  opened  and  there  stands  my  Saguenay,  bleary-eyed, 
sleep-muddled,  but  his  benumbed  brain  responsive  to  the  thump- 
ing cadence  of  the  old  scalp-song. 

But  I  pushed  him  down  stairs  ere  he  had  sniffed  a  lung-full 
of  our  punch,  having  no  mind  to  face  a  drink-mad  Indian  that 
night  or  any  other. 

So  I  went  below  and  piled  the  furs  upon  him  and  waited  till 
he  snored  before  I  left  him  to  his  hibernation. 

Such  childishness!  Who  would  believe  it  of  us  that  were  no 
longer  children!  And  all  alone  there  in  a  little  house  amid  a 
vast  and  wintry  wilderness,  where  no  living  thing  stirred  abroad 
save  the  white  hare's  ghost  in  the  starlight,  and  the  shadow  of 
the  lean,  weird  beast  that  tracked  her. 

Well,  if  we  conducted  like  children  we  were  as  light-minded 
and  as  innocent.  There  was  in  our  behaviour  no  lesser  levity;  in 
our  mirth  no  grossness;  in  our  jests  and  stories  no  license  of  the 
times  nor  any  country  coarseness  in  our  speech. 


WINTER  AND  SPRING  225 

Nor,  in  me,  now  remained  aught  of  that  sick-heart  jealousy 
nor  sentimental  disorder  which  lately  had  seized  me  and  upset 
my  sense  and  reason. 

My  sentiments  concerning  Penelope  seemed  very  clear  to  me 
now; — a  warm  liking;  a  chivalrous  desire  for  her  well-being 
and  happiness;  a  pride  that  I  had  been,  in  some  measure,  the 
instrument  which  had  awakened  her  to  her  own  prerogatives  in 
a  world  whose  laws  are  made  by  men. 

And  if,  on  such  an  occasion  as  this,  she  gave  us  her  counte- 
nance and  even  frolicked  with  us,  there  was  a  new  and  clearer 
note  in  her  laughter,  a  swifter  confidence  in  her  smile,  and,  in 
voice  and  look  and  movement,  a  subtle  and  shy  authority  which 
had  not  been  there  in  the  inexperienced  and  candid  child  whose 
heart  seemed  bewildered  when  assaulted,  and  whose  lips,  unde- 
fended, rendered  them  to  the  first  marauder. 

I  said  as  much,  one  day,  to  Nick. 

"You've  turned  the  child's  head,"  said  he,  "with  your  kingly 
benefactions.  You  have  but  to  woo  her  if  you  want  her  to  wife." 

"Wife!"  said  I,  scared  o'  the  very  word.  "What  the  devil  shall 
I  do  with  a  wife,  who  am  contented  as  I  am?  Also,  it  is  not  in 
her  mind,  nor  in  mine,  who  now  are  pleasant  friends  and  com- 
rades. .  .  .  Also,"  I  added,  "love  is  a  disorder  and  begets  a  brood 
of  jealousies  to  plague  a  man  to  death!  I  am  calm  and  con- 
tented. I  am  enamoured  of  no  woman,  and  do  not  desire  to  be 
so.  ...  Although,  when  I  pass  thirty,  and  possess  estates,  doubt- 
less I  shall  desire  an  heir." 

"And  go  a-hunting  a  mother  for  this  same  heir  among  the  gilt- 
hats  of  New  York,"  said  Nick.  "Which  is  your  destiny,  John 
Drogue,  for  like  seeks  like,  and  a  yeoman  is  born,  not  made; — 
and  wears  his  rings  in  his  ears " 

"Have  done!"  said  I  impatiently.  "I  am  of  the  soil!  I  love 
it!  I  love  plowed  land  and  corn  and  the  smell  of  stables!  I 
love  my  log  house  and  my  glebe  and  the  smell  of  English  grass!" 

"But  a  servant  is  a  servant,  John  Drogue,  and  the  mistress  of 
your  roof  shall  have  walked  in  silk  before  she  ever  puts  on  home- 
spun and  pattens  for  love  of  you !  Lord,  man !  I  am  I,  and 
you  are  you!  And  we  mate  not  with  the  same  breed  o'  birds. 
No!  For  mine  shall  be  a  ground-chick  of  sober  hue  and  feather; 
and  your  sweetheart  shall  have  bright  wings  and  own  the  air  for 
a  home. 

"That  is  already  written:  'each  after  its  kind.'  So  God  send 
you  your  rainbow  lady  from  the  clouds,  and  give  you  a  pretty 
heir  in  due  event;  and  as  for  me,  if  I  guess  right,  my  mate  to 


226  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

be  hath  never  fluttered  higher  than  her  garret  nor  worn  a  shred 
of  silk  till  she  sews  her  wedding  dress!" 

On  the  last  day  of  March  maple  sap  ran. 

Nick  and  I  set  out  that  day  to  seek  a  sugar-bush  for  the  new 
mistress  of  Summer  House. 

Snow  was  soft  and  our  snowshoes  scarce  bore  us,  but  we  floun- 
dered along  the  hard  woods,  and  presently  discovered  a  grove 
of  stately  maples. 

All  that  day  we  were  busy  in  the  barn  making  buckets  out  o' 
staves  stored  there;  and  on  the  first  day  of  April  we  waded  the 
softening  snow  to  the  new  sugar-bush,  tapped  the  trees,  set  our 
spouts  and  buckets,  and  also  drew  thither  a  kettle  and  dry  wood 
against  future  need. 

I  remember  that  the  day  was  clear  and  warm,  where,  in  the 
sun,  the  barn  doors  stood  open  and  the  chickens  ventured  out 
to  scratch  about,  where  the  sun  had  melted  the  snow. 

All  day  long  our  cock  was  a-crowing  and  a-courting;  the  south 
wind  came  warm  with  spring  and  fluttered  the  wash  which 
Penelope  was  hanging  out  to  dry  and  whiten  under  soft,  blue 
skies. 

In  pattens  she  tripped  about  the  slushy  yard,  her  thick,  bright 
hair  pegged  loosely,  and  her  child's  bosom  and  arms  as  white 
as  the  snow  she  stepped  on. 

Save  only  for  my  Saguenay,  who  stood  on  the  veranda  roof, 
resting  upon  his  rifle,  the  scene  was  sweet  and  peaceful.  Sheep 
bleated  in  yard  and  fold;  cattle  lowed  in  their  manger;  our  cock's 
full-throated  challenge  rang  out  under  sunny  skies;  and  every- 
where the  blue  air  was  murmurous  with  the  voice  of  rills  running 
from  the  melting  snows  like  mountain  brooks. 

On  Vlaie  Water  the  ice  rotted  awash;  and  already  black  crows 
were  walking  there,  and  I  could  see  them  busily  searching  the 
dead  and  yellow  sedge,  from  where  I  sat  hooping  my  sap-buckets 
and  softly  whistling  to  myself. 

Nick  made  a  snowball  and  flung  it  at  me,  but  I  dodged  it. 
Then  Penelope  made  another  and  aimed  it  at  me  so  truly  that 
the  soft  lump  covered  my  cap  and  shoulders  with  snow. 

But  her  quick  peal  of  laughter  was  checked  when  I  sprang  up 
to  chasten  her,  and  she  fled  on  her  pattens,  but  I  caught  her  around 
the  corner  of  the  house  under  the  lilacs. 

"You  should  be  trussed  up  and  trounced  like  any  child,"  said 
f,  holding  her  with  one  hand  whilst  I  scraped  out  snow  from 
my  neck  with  t'other. 


WINTER  AND  SPRING-  227 

At  that  she  bent  and  flung  a  handful  of  snow  over  me;  and 
I  seized  her,  bent  her  back,  and  scrubbed  her  face  till  it  was 
pink. 

Choked  with  snow  and  laughter,  we  swayed  together,  breath- 
less, she  still  defiant  and  snatching  up  snow  to  fling  over  me. 

"You  truss  me  up!"  she  panted.  "Do  you  think  you  are  more 
than  a  boy  to  use  me  as  a  father  or  a  husband  only  has  the 
right?" 

"You  little  minx!"  said  I,  when  I  had  spat  out  a  mouthful  of 
snow,  "is  not  anyone  free  to  trounce  a  child! " 

At  that  I  slipped,  or  she  tripped  me;  into  a  drift  I  went,  and 
she  pounced  on  me  and  sat  astride  with  a  cry  of  triumph. 

"Xow,"  says  she,  "I  shall  take  your  scalp,  my  fine  friend";  and 
twisted  one  hand  in  my  hair. 

"Hiu-u!  Kou-ee!"  she  cried,  "a  scalp  taken  means  war  to 
the  end!  Do  you  cry  me  mercy,  John  Drogue?" 

I  struggled,  but  the  snow  was  soft  and  I  sank  the  deeper,  and 
could  not  unseat  her. 

"I  drown  in  snow,"  said  I.     "Get  up,  you  jade!" 

"Jade!"  cries  she,  and  stopped  my  mouth  with  snow. 

I  struggled  in  vain;  under  her  clinging  weight  the  soft  snow 
engulfed  and  held  me  like  a  very  quicksand.  I  looked  up  at  her 
and  she  laughed  down  at  me. 

"Do  you  yield  you,  John  Drogue?" 

"It  seems  I  must.    But  wait! " 

"You  threaten!" 

"No!     Do  you  mean  to  drown  me,  you  vixen!" 

"You  engage  not  to  seek  revenge?" 

"I  do  so." 

"Why?    Because  you  love  me  tenderly?" 

"Yes,"  said  I,  half  choked.     "Let  me  up,  you  plague  of  Egypt !" 

"That  is  not  a  loving  speech,  John  Drogue.  Do  you  love  me 
or  no?" 

"Yes,  I  do— you  little, " 

"Little  what?" 

"Object  of  my  heart's  desire!"  I  fairly  yelled.  "I  am  like  to 
smother  here! " 

"This  is  All  Fools'  Day,"  says  she,  sick  with  laughter  to  see 
me  mad  and  at  her  mercy.  "Therefore,  you  must  tell  me  lies, 
not  truths.  Tell  me  a  pretty  lie, — quickly! — else  I  scrub  your 
features !" 

After  a  helpless  heave  or  two  I  lay  still. 

"You  say  you  love  me  tenderly.     That  is  a  lie,  John  Drogue — 


228  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

it  being  All  Fools'  Day.     So  you  shall  vow,  instead,  that  you 
hate  me.     Come,  then !" 

"I  hate  you!"  said  I,  licking  the  snow  from  my  lips. 

"Passionately  ?" 

I  looked  up  at  her  where  deep  in  the  snow,  under  the  lilacs,  I 
lay,  my  arms  spread  and  her  two  hands  pinning  my  wrists.  She 
Was  flushed  with  laughter  and  I  saw  the  devils  o'  mischief  watch- 
ing me  deep  in  her  dark  eyes. 

"It  was  under  these  lilacs,"  said  I,  "that  I  had  my  first  hurt 
of  you.  You  should  heal  that  hurt  now." 

That  confused  her,  and  she  blushed  and  swore  to  punish  me  for 
that  fling;  but  I  grinned  at  her. 

"Come,"  said  I,  "heal  me  of  my  ancient  wound  as  you  dealt 
it  me — with  your  lips !" 

"I  did  not  kiss  Steve  Watts!" 

"But  he  kissed  you.  So  do  the  like  by  me  and  I  forgive  you  all." 

"All?" 

"Everything." 

"Even  what  I  have  now  done?" 

"Even  that." 

"And  you  will  not  truss  me  up  to  chasten  me  when  you  go 
free?  For  it  would  shame  me  and  I  could  not  endure  it." 

"I  promise." 

She  looked  down  at  me,  smiling,  uncertain. 

"What  will  you  do  to  me  if  I  do  not?"  she  asked. 

"Drown  you  in  snow  three  times  every  day." 

"And  I  needs  must  kiss  you  to  buy  my  safety?" 

"Yes,  and  with  hearty  good  will,  too." 

She  glanced  hastily  around,  perhaps  to  seek  an  avenue  for 
escape,  perhaps  to  see  who  might  spy  us. 

Then,  looking  down  at  me,  a-blush  now,  yet  laughing,  she  bent 
her  head  slowly,  very  slowly  to  mine,  and  rested  her  lips  on 
mine. 

Then  she  was  up  and  off  like  a  young  tree-lynx,  fleeing,  stum- 
bling on  her  pattens;  but,  like  a  white  hare,  I  lay  very  still  in 
my  form,  unstirring,  gazing  up  into  the  bluest,  softest  sky  that 
my  dazzled  eyes  ever  had  unclosed  upon. 

There  was  a  faint  fragrance  in  the  air.  It  may  have  been  ar- 
butus— or  the  trace  of  her  lips  on  mine. 

In  my  ears  trilled  the  pretty  melody  of  a  million  little  snow 
rills  running  in  the  sunshine.  I  heard  the  gay  cock-crow  from 
the  yard,  the  restless  lowing  of  cattle,  the  distant  caw  of  a  crow 
flying  high  over  the  Drowned  Lands. 


WINTER  AND  SPRING  229 

When  at  last  I  got  to  my  feet  a  strange,  new  soberness  had 
come  over  me,  stilling  exhilaration,  quieting  the  rough  and  boy- 
ish spirits  which  had  possessed  me. 

Penelope,  hanging  out  linen  to  sweeten,  looked  at  me  over  her 
shoulder,  plainly  uncertain  concerning  me.  But  I  kept  my  word 
and  did  not  offer  to  molest  her,  and  so  went  about  my  cooper's 
work  again,  where  Nick  also  squatted,  matching  bucket  staves, 
whilst  I  fell  to  shaping  sap-pans. 

It  was  very  still  there  i;,  the  sunshine.  And,  as  I  sat  there,_  it 
seemed  to  me  that  I  was  putting  more  behind  me  than  the  icy 
and  unsullied  months  of  winter, — and  that  I  should  never  be 
a  boy  any  more,  with  a  boy's  passionless  and  untroubled  soul. 

And  so  came  spring  upon  us  in  the  Northland  that  fateful 
year  of  '77,  with  blue  skies  and  melting  snow  and  the  cock's 
clarion  sounding  clear. 

But  it  was  mid- April  before  the  first  Forest  Runner,  with  pelts, 
passed  through  the  Sacandaga,  twelve  days  out  from  Ty,  and 
the  woods  nigh  impassable,  he  gave  account,  what  with  soft  drifts 
choking  the  hills  and  all  streams  over  their  banks. 

And  then,  for  the  first,  we  learned  something  concerning  the 
great  war  that  was  waging  everywhere  around  our  outer  borders, 
— how  His  Excellency  had  surprised  the  Hessians  at  Trenton, 
and  had  tricked  Cornwallis  and  beat  up  the  enemy  at  Princeton. 
It  was  amazing  to  realize  that  His  Excellency,  with  only  the 
frozen  fragments  of  a  meagre  and  defeated  army,  had  recov- 
ered all  the  Jerseys.  But  this  was  so,  thank  God;  and  we  won- 
dered to  hear  of  it. 

All  this  the  Forest  Runner  told  us  as  he  ate  and  drank  in  the 
kitchen, — and  how  Lord  Stirling  had  been  made  a  major-general, 
and  that  we  had  now  enlisted  four  fine  regiments  of  horse  to 
curb  DeLancy's  bold  riders;  and  how  that  great  Tory,  John 
Penn,  who  was  lately  Governor  of  Pennsylvania,  Thomas  Wharton, 
and  Benjamin  Chew,  had  been  packed  off  with  other  villains  as 
prisoners  into  Virginia.  Which  pleased  me,  because  of  all  that 
Quaker  treachery  in  the  proprietary;  and  I  deemed  them  mean 
and  selfish  and  self-righteous  dogs  who  whined  all  day  of  peace 
and  brotherhood  and  non-resistance,  and  did  conduct  most  cruelly 
by  night  for  greed  and  sordid  gain. 

Not  that  I  liked  the  New  Englanders  the  better;  but,  of  the 
two,  preferred  them  and  had  rather  they  settled  the  Pennsylvania 
wilds  than  that  the  sly,  smug  proprietaries  multiplied  there  and 
nursed  treason  at  the  breast. 


230  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

Well,  our  Coureur-du-Bois,  in  his  greasy  leather,  quills,  and 
scarlet  braid,  had  other  news  for  us  less  palatable. 

For  it  seemed  that  we  had  lost  two  thousand  men  and  all 
their  artillery  when  Fort  Washington  fell;  that  we  had  lost  a 
hundred  more  men  and  eleven  vessels  to  Sir  Guy  Carleton  on 
Lake  Champlain;  that  the  garrison  at  Ty  was  a  slim  one  and 
sick  for  the  most,  and  the  relief  regiments  were  so  slow  in  fill- 
ing that  three  New  England  states  were  drafting  their  soldiery 
by  force. 

There  were  rumours  rife  concerning  the  summer  campaign, 
and  how  the  British  had  a  plan  to  behead  our  new  United  States 
by  lopping  off  all  New  England. 

It  was  to  be  done  in  this  manner:  Guy  Carleton's  army  was  to 
come  down  from  the  North  through  the  lakes,  driving  Gates, 
descend  the  Hudson  to  Albany  and  there  join  Clinton  and  his 
British,  who  were  to  force  the  Highlands,  march  up  the  river, 
and  so  hold  all  the  Hudson,  which  would  cut  the  head — New 
England — from  the  body  of  the  new  nation. 

And  to  make  this  more  certain,  there  was  now  gathering  in 
the  West  an  army  under  Butler  and  Brant,  to  strike  the  Mohawk 
Valley,  sweep  through  it  to  Schenectady,  and  there  come  in  touch 
with  Burgoyne. 

To  oppose  this  terrible  invasion  from  three  directions  we  had 
forts  on  the  Hudson  and  a  few  troops;  but  His  Excellency  was 
engaged  south  of  these  points  and  must  remain  there. 

We  had,  at  Ty,  a  skeleton  army,  and  Gates  to  lead  it,  with 
which  to  face  Burgoyne.  We  had,  in  the  Mohawk  Valley,  to 
block  the  west  and  show  a  bold  front  to  Brant  and  Butler,  only 
fragments  of  Van  Schaik's  and  Livingston's  Continental  line,  now 
digging  breastworks  at  Stanwix,  a  company  at  Johnstown,  and 
at  a  crisis,  our  Tryon  County  militia,  now  drilling  under  Her- 
kimer. 

And,  save  for  a  handful  of  Hangers  and  Oneidas,  these  were 
all  we  had  in  Tryon  to  resist  the  hordes  that  were  gathering  to 
march  on  us  from  north,  west  and  south, — British  regulars  with 
horse,  foot,  and  magnificent  artillery ;  partizans  and  loyalists  num- 
bering 1200;  a  thousand  savages  in  their  paint;  Highlanders, 
Canadians,  Hessians;  Sir  John  Johnson's  regiment  of  Eoyal 
Greens;  Colonel  John  Butler's  regiment  of  Rangers;  McDonald's 
renegades  and  painted  Tories — God!  what  a  murderous  horde; 
and  all  to  make  their  common  tryst  here  in  County  Tryon! 

Our  grim,  lank  Forest  Runner  sprawled  on  the  settle  by  the 
kitchen  table,  smoking  his  bitter  Indian  tobacco  and  drinking 


WINTER  AND  SPRING  231 

rum  and  water,  well  sugared;  and  Penelope  and  Nick  and  I  sat 
around  him  to  listen,  and  look  gravely  at  one  another  as  we 
learned  more  and  more  of  what  it  seemed  that  Fate  had  in 
storage  for  us. 

The  hot  spiced  rum  loosened  the  Runner's  tongue.  His  name 
was  Dick  Jessup;  and  he  was  a  hard,  grim  man  whose  business, 
from  youth — which  was  peltry — had  led  him  through  perilous 
ways. 

He  told  us  of  wild  and  horrid  doings,  where  solitary  settlers 
and  lone  trappers  had  been  murdered  by  Guy  Carleton's  outlying 
Iroquois,  from  Quebec  to  Crown  Point. 

Scores  and  scores  of  scalps  had  been  taken;  wretched  prison- 
ers had  suffered  at  the  Iroquois  stake  under  tortures  indescrib- 
able— the  mere  mention  of  which  made  Penelope  turn  sickly 
white  and  set  Nick  gnawing  his  knuckles. 

But  what  most  infuriated  me  was  the  thought  that  in  the 
regiments  of  old  John  Butler  and  Sir  John  Johnson  were  scores 
of  my  old  neighbors  who  now  boasted  that  they  were  coming 
back  to  cut  our  throats  on  our  own  thresholds, — coming  back  with 
a  thousand  savages  to  murder  women  and  children  and  ravage 
all  with  fire  so  that  only  a  blackened  desert  should  remain  of 
the  valleys  and  the  humble  homes  we  had  made  and  loved. 

Jessup  said,  puffing  the  acrid  willow  smoke  from  his  clay: 
"Where  I  lay  hidden  near  Oneida  Lake,  I  saw  a  Seneca  war  party 
pass  on  the  crust;  and  they  had  fresh  scalps  which  dripped  on 
the  snow. 

"And,  near  Niagara,  I  saw  Butler's  Rangers  manoeuvring  on 
snowshoes,  with  drums  and  curly  bugle-horns." 

"Did  you  know  any  among  them?"  I  asked  sombrely. 

"Why,  yes.     There  was  Michael  Reed,  kin  to  Henry  Stoner." 

"My  cousin,  damn  him!"  quoth  Nick,  calmly. 

"He  was  a  drummer  in  the  Rangers  of  John  Butler,"  nodded 
Jessup.  "And  I  saw  Philip  Helmer  there  in  a  green  uniform, 
and  Charles  Cady,  too,  of  Fonda's  Bush." 

"All  I  ask,"  says  Nick,  "is  to  get  these  two  hands  on  them. 
I  demand  no  weapons;  I  want  only  to  feel  my  fingers  closing 
on  them."  He  sat  staring  into  space  with  the  blank  glare  of 
a  panther.  Then,  "Were  they  painted?"  he  demanded. 

"No,"  said  Jessup,  "but  Simon  Girty  was  and  Newberry,  too. 
There  were  a  dozen  painted  Tories  or  blue-eyed  Indians, — what- 
ever you  call  'em, — and  they  sat  at  a  Seneca  fire  where  the  red 
post  stood,  and  all  eating  half-raw  venison,  guts  and  all " 

Penelope  averted  her  pallid  face  and  leaned  her  head  on  her  hand. 


232  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

Jessup  took  no  notice:  "They  burned  a  prisoner  that  day. 
I  was  sick,  where  I  lay  hidden,  to  hear  his  shrieks.  And  the 
British  in  their  cantonments  could  hear  as  plainly  as  I,  yet  no- 
body interfered." 

"There  could  have  been  no  British  officer  there,"  said  Penelope, 
In  the  ghost  of  a  voice. 

"Well,  there  were,  then,"  said  Jessup  bluntly.  Turning  to 
me  he  added:  "There's  a  gin'rall  there  at  Niagara,  called  St. 
Leger,  and  he's  a  drunken  son  of  a  slut !  We  should  not  be  af eard 
of  that  puffed  up  bladder,  and  I  hope  he  comes  against  us.  But 
Butler  has  some  smart  officers,  like  his  son  Walter,  and  Lieu- 
tenant Hare,  and  young  Stephen  Watts " 

"You  saw  him  there!"  exclaimed  Penelope. 

"Yes,  I  saw  him  in  a  green  uniform;  and,  with  him  also, 
a-horse,  rode  Sir  John  Johnson,  all  in  red,  and  Walter  Butler 
in  black  and  green,  and  his  long  cloak  a-trail  to  his  spurs.  By 
God,  there  is  a  motley  crew  for  you — what  with  Brant  in  the  sad- 
dle, in  paint  and  buckskins  and  fur  robe,  and  shaved  like  any 
dirty  Mohawk;  and  Hiakatoo,  like  a  blackened  devil  out  o'  hell, 
all  barred  with  scarlet  and  wearing  the  head  of  a  great  wolf 
for  a  cap,  as  well  as  the  pelt  to  cover  his  war-paint! — and  Mc- 
Donald, with  his  kilt  and  dirk,  and  the  damned  black  eyes  of 
him  and  the  two  buck-teeth  shining  on  his  lips! — God!"  he 
breathed;  and  took  a  long  pull  at  his  pannikin  of  spiced 
rum. 

That  evening  Jessup  left  for  Johnstown  on  his  way  to  Albany 
with  his  peltry;  and  took  with  him  a  letter  which  I  wrote  to  the 
Commandant  at  Johnstown  fort. 

But  it  was  past  the  first  of  May  before  I  had  any  notice  taken 
of  my  letter;  and  on  a  Sunday  came  an  Oneida  runner,  bearing 
two  letters  for  me;  one  from  the  Commandant,  acquainting  me 
that  it  was  not  his  intention  to  garrison  Fish  House  or  Sum- 
mer House,  that  Nick  and  I  were  sufficient  to  stand  watch  on 
the  Mohawk  Trail  and  Drowned  Lands  and  report  any  movement 
threatening  the  Yalley  from  the  North,  and  that  what  few  men 
he  had  must  go  to  Stanwix,  where  the  fort  had  not  yet  been 
completed. 

The  other  letter  was  writ  me  from  Fonda's  Bush  by  honest 
John  Putman: 

"Friend  Jack"  (says  he),  "this  Bush  is  a  desert  indeed  and 
all  run  off, — the  Tories  to  Canady, — such  as  the  Helmers,  Cadys, 


WINTER  AND  SPRING  233 

Bowmans,  Reeds,  and  the  likes, — save  Adam  Helmer,  who  is  of 
our  complexion, — and  our  own  people  who  are  friends  to  liberty 
have  fled  to  Johnstown  excepting  me, — all  the  women  and  chil- 
dren,— Jean  De  Silver's  family,  De  Luysnes'  people,  the  Salis- 
burys,  Scotts,  Barbara  Stoner,  who  married  Conrad  Reed  and 
has  gone  to  New  York  now;  and  all  the  Putmans  save  myself, 
who  shall  go  presently  in  fear  of  the  savages  and  Sir  John. 

"Sir,  it  is  sad  to  see  our  housen  empty  and  our  fields  fallow, 
and  weeds  growing  in  plowed  land.  There  remain  no  longer  any 
cattle  or  fowls  or  any  beasts  at  all,  only  the  wild  poultry  of  the 
woods  come  to  the  deserted  doorsteps,  and  the  red  fox  runs  along 
the  fence. 

"Your  house  stands  empty  as  it  was  when  you  marched  away. 
Only  squirrels  inhabit  it  now,  and  porcupines  gnaw  the  corn-crib. 

"Well,  friend  Jack,  this  is  all  I  have  to  say.  I  shall  drive 
my  oxen  to  Johnstown  Fort  tomorrow,  and  give  this  letter  to  the 
first  runner  or  express. 

"I  learn  that  you  have  bought  the  Summer  House  of  the  Com- 
mission. I  wish  you  joy  of  it,  but  it  seems  a  perilous  purchase, 
and  I  fear  that  you  shall  soon  be  obliged  to  leave  it. 

"So,  wishing  you  health,  and  beholden  to  you  for  many  kind- 
nesses— as  are  we  all  who  come  from  Fonda's  Bush — I  close,  sir, 
with  respect  and  my  obedience  and  duty  to  my  brave  young 
friend  who  serves  liberty  that  we  old  folk  and  our  women  and 
children  shall  not  perish  or  survive  as  British  slaves. 

"Sir,  awaiting  the  dread  onset  of  Sir  John  with  that  firmness 
which  becomes  a  good  American,  I  am, 

"Your  obliged  and  humble  servant, 

"JOHN  PUT  MAN." 

The  Oneida  left  in  an  hour  for  Ty. 

And  it  was,  I  think,  an  hour  later  when  Nick  comes  a-running 
to  find  me. 

"A  fire  at  Fish  House,"  he  cries,  "and  a  dense  smoke  mounting 
to  the  sky !" 

I  flung  aside  my  letter,  ran  to  the  kitchen,  and  called  Penelope. 

"Pack  up  and  be  ready  to  leave!"  said  I.  And,  to  Nick: 
"Saddle  Kaya  and  be  ready  to  take  Penelope  a-horse  to  Mayfield 
blockhouse.  Call  my  Indian!" 

As  I  belted  my  shirt  and  stood  ready,  my  Saguenay  came 
swiftly,  trailing  his  rifle. 

"Come,"  said  I,  "we  must  learn  why  that  smoke  towers  yonder 
to  the  sky." 


234  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

Penelope  took  me  by  the  sleeve: 

"Do  nothing  rash,  John  Drogue,"  she  said  in  a  breathless  way. 

"Get  you  ready  for  flight,"  said  I,  fixing  a  fresh  flint.  "Nick 
shall  run  at  your  stirrup  if  it  comes  to  that  pinch 

"But  you!" 

"Why,  I  am  well  enough ;  and  if  the  Iroquois  are  at  Fish  House 
then  I  retreat  through  Varrick's,  and  so  by  Fonda's  Bush  to  May- 
field  Fort." 

She  clasped  her  hands. 

"I  do  not  wish  to  leave  Summer  House,"  she  said  pitifully. 
"What  is  to  happen  to  our  sheep  and  cattle — and  to  our  fowls 
and  all  our  stores — and  to  Summer  House  itself?" 

"God  knows,"  said  I  impatiently.  "Why  do  you  stand  there 
idle  when  you  must  make  ready  for  flight!" 

"I — I  can  not  bear  to  have  you  go  to  Fish  House — all  alone " 

"I  have  the  Yellow  Leaf,  and  can  keep  clear  o'  trouble.  Come, 
Penelope ! " 

"When  you  move  toward  trouble  I  do  not  desire  to  flee  the 
other  way,  toward  safety! " 

"Pack  up,  Penelope!"  shouted  Nick,  leading  Kaya  into  the  or- 
chard,  all  saddled;  and  fell  to  making  up  his  pack  on  the  grass. 

"At  Mayfield  Fort!"  I  called  across  to  Nick.  "And  if  I  be 
not  there  by  night,  then  take  Penelope  to  Johnstown,  for  it  means 
that  the  Iroquois  are  on  the  Sacandaga!" 

"I  mark  you,  Jack!"  he  replied.    I  turned  to  the  girl: 

"Farewell,  Penelope,"  I  said.     "You  shall  be  safe  with  Nick." 

"But  you,  John  Drogue?" 

"Safe  in  the  forest,  always,  and  the  devil  himself  could  not 
catch  me,"  said  I  cheerily. 

She  stretched  out  her  hand.  I  took  it,  looked  at  her,  then 
kissed  her  fingers.  And  so  went  away  swiftly,  to  where  our  canoe 
lay,  troubled  because  of  this  young  girl  whom  I  had  no  desire 
to  fall  truly  in  love  with,  and  yet  knew  I  had  been  near  to  it 
many  times  that  spring. 

I  got  into  the  canoe  and  took  the  stern  paddle;  my  Saguenay 
kneeled  down  in  the  bow ;  and  we  shot  out  across  the  Ylaie  Water. 

Once  I  turned  and  looked  back  over  my  shoulder;  and  I  saw 
Penelope  standing  there  on  the  grass,  and  Nick  awaiting  her  with 
Kaya. 

But  I  did  not  wish  to  feel  as  I  felt  at  that  moment.  I  did 
not  desire  to  fall  in  love.  No ! 

"Au  large!"  I  said  to  my  Indian,  and  swept  the  birchen  craft 
out  into  the  deep  and  steady  current. 


CHAPTEK  XXIV 

GREEN-COATS 

XTOTHING  stirred  on  the  Drowned  Lands  as  we  drove  our 
i.\|  canoe  at  top  speed  between  tall  bronzed  stalks  of  rushes 
and  dead  water-weeds.  Vlaie  Water  was  intensely  blue  and 
patched  with  golden  debris  of  floating  stuff — shreds  of  cranberry 
vine,  rotting  lily  pads,  and  the  like — and  in  twenty  minutes  we 
floated  silently  into  the  Spring  Pool,  opposite  the  Stacking  Ridge, 
where  hard  earth  bordered  both  shores  and  where  maples  and 
willows  were  now  in  lusty  bud. 

Two  miles  away,  against  Maxon's  sturdy  bastion,  a  vast  quan- 
tity of  smoke  was  writhing  upward  in  dark  and  cloudy  con- 
volutions. I  could  not  see  Fish  House — that  oblong,  unpainted 
building  a  story  and  a  half  in  height,  with  its  chimneys  of  stone 
and  the  painted  fish  weather  vane  swimming  in  the  sky.  But  I 
was  convinced  that  it  was  afire. 

We  beached  our  canoe  and  drew  it  under  the  shore-reeds,  and 
so  passed  rapidly  down  the  right  bank  of  the  stream  along  the 
quick  water,  holding  our  guns  cocked  and  primed,  like  hunters 
ready  for  a  hazard  shot  at  sight. 

There  was  no  snow  left;  all  frost  was  out  of  the  ground  along 
the  Drowned  Lands ;  and  the  earth  was  sopping  wet.  Everywhere 
frail  green  spears  of  new  grass  pricked  the  dead  and  matted 
herbage;  and  in  sheltered  places  tiny  green  leaves  embroidered 
stems  and  twigs;  and  I  saw  wind-flowers,  and  violets  both  yellow 
and  blue,  and  the  amber  shoots  of  skunk  cabbage  growing  thickly 
in  wet  places.  The  shadbush,  too,  was  in  exquisite  white  bloom 
along  the  stream,  and  I  remember  that  I  saw  one  tree  in  full 
flower,  and  a  dozen  bluejays  sitting  amid  the  snowy  blossoms 
like  so  many  lumps  of  sapphire. 

Now,  on  the  mainland,  a  clearing  showed  in  the  sunshine; 
and  beyond  it  I  saw  a  rail  fence  bounding  a  field  still  black  and 
wet  from  last  autumn's  plowing. 

We  took  to  the  brush  and  bore  to  the  right,  where  on  firm 
ground  a  grove  of  ash  and  butternut  forested  the  ridge,  and  a 
sandy  path  ran  through. 

235 


236  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

I  knew  this  path.  Sir  William  often  used  it  when  hunting, 
and  his  cows,  kept  at  Fish  House  when  his  two  daughters  lived 
there,  travelled  this  way  to  and  from  pasture. 

Between  us  and  the  Sacandaga  lay  one  of  those  grassy  gulleys 
where,  in  time  of  flood,  back-water  from  the  Sacandaga  spread 
deep. 

My  Indian  and  I  now  lay  down  and  drew  our  bodies  very 
stealthily  toward  the  woods'  edge,  where  the  setback  from  the 
river  divided  us  from  Fish  House. 

Ahead  oi  us,  through  the  trees,  dense  volumes  of  smoke  crowded 
upward  and  unfolded  into  strange,  cloudy  shapes,  and  we  could 
hear  a  loud  and  steady  crackling  noise  made  by  feeding  flames. 

Presently,  through  the  trees,  I  saw  Fish  House  all  afire,  and 
now  only  a  glowing  skeleton  in  the  sunshine.  But  the  dense 
smoke  came  not  now  from  Fish  House,  but  from  three  barracks 
of  marsh-hay  burning,  which  vomited  thick  smoke  into  the  sky. 
Near  the  house  some  tall  piles  of  hewn  logs  were  blazing,  also  a 
corn-crib,  a  small  barn,  and  a  log  farmhouse,  where  I  think  that 
damned  rascal,  Wormwood,  once  lived.  And  it  had  been  bought 
by  a  tenant  of  Sir  William, — one  of  the  patriot  Shews  or  Helmers, 
if  I  mistake  not,  who  was  given  favourable  advantages  to  un- 
dertake such  a  settlement,  but  now  had  fled  to  Johnstown. 

Godfrey  Shew's  own  house,  just  over  the  knoll  to  the  eastward, 
was  also  on  fire:  I  could  see  the  flames  from  it  and  a  thin  brown- 
ish smoke  which  belched  out  black  cinders  and  shreds  of  charred 
bark. 

I  did  not  see  a  living  creature  near  these  fires,  but  farther 
toward  the  east  clearing  I  heard  voices  and  the  sound  of  picks 
and  axes;  and  my  Saguenay  and  I  crept  thither  along  the  bank 
of  the  flooded  hollow. 

Very  soon  I  perceived  the  new  earthwork  and  log-stockade 
made  the  previous  summer  by  our  Continentals;  and  there,  to 
my  astonishment,  I  saw  a  motley  company  of  white  men  and 
Indians,  who  were  chopping  down  the  timbers  of  the  palisades, 
levelling  the  earthwork  with  pick  and  shovel. 

So  near  were  they  across  the  flooded  hollow  that  I  recognized 
Elias  Beacraft,  brother  to  Benjy,  who  had  gone  off  with  Mc- 
Donald. Also,  I  saw  and  knew  Captain  James  Hare,  brother  to 
Lieutenant  Henry  Hare,  of  Butler's  regiment;  and  Henry,  also, 
was  there;  and  Captain  Nellis,  of  the  forester  service.  Both 
the  Hares  and  Nellis  were  dressed  in  green  uniforms,  and  there 
were  two  other  green-coats  whom  I  knew  not,  but  all  busy  with 
their  work  of  destruction,  and  their  axes  flashing  in  the  sunshine. 


GREEN-COATS  237 

The  others  I  had,  of  course,  taken  for  very  savages,  for  they 
were  feathered  and  painted  and  "wore  Indian  dress;  but  when 
one  of  these  came  down  to  the  flooded  hollow  to  fill  his  tin  cup 
and  drink,  to  my  horror  I  saw  that  the  eyes  in  that  hideously- 
painted  face  were  a  light  blue! 

"Xai !     Yengese !"  whispered  the  Yellow  Leaf. 

The  painted  Tory  was  not  ten  yards  from  where  we  lay,  and, 
as  I  gazed  intently  at  those  hideously  daubed  features,  all  at 
once  I  knew  the  man. 

For  this  horrid  and  grotesque  figure,  all  besmeared  with  ochre 
and  indigo,  and  wearing  Indian  dress,  was  none  other  than  an 
old  neighbour  of  mine  in  Tryon  County,  one  George  Cuck,  who 
lived  near  Jan  Zuyler  and  his  two  buxom  daughters,  and  who 
had  gone  off  with  Sir  John  last  May. 

As  I  stared  at  him  in  ever-rising  astonishment  and  rage,  comes 
another  blue-eyed  Indian — Barney  Cane, — wearing  Iroquois  paint 
and  feathers,  and  all  gaudy  in  his  beaded  war-dress.  And,  at 
his  belt,  I  saw  a  fresh  scalp  hanging  by  its  hair, — the  light  brown 
hair  of  a  white  man! 

I  could  hear  Cane  speaking  with  Cuck  in  English.  Beacraft 
came  down  to  the  water;  and  Billy  dewberry*  and  Hare*  also 
came  down,  both  wearing  the  uniform  of  the  forester  service. 
And  I  was  astounded  to  see  Henry  Hare  back  again  after  his 
narrow  escape  at  Summer  House  last  autumn,  the  night  I  got 
my  hurt. 

But  he  wore  no  Valley  militia  disguise  now;  all  these  men 
were  in  green-coats,  openly  flaunting  the  enemy  uniform  in 
County  Tryon, — save  only  those  painted  beasts  Cuck  and  Cane. 

It  was  a  war  party,  and  it  had  accomplished  a  clean  job  at 
Fish  House;  and  now  they  all  were  coming  down  to  the  flooded 
hollow  and  looking  across  it  where  lay  the  short  route  west  to 
Summer  House. 

Presently  I  heard  a  great  splashing  to  our  left,  and  saw  a  skiff 
and  two  green-coats  and  two  Mohawk  Indians  in  it  pulling  across 
the  back-water. 

And  these  latter  were  real  Mohawks,  stripped,  oiled,  their  heads 
shaved,  and  in  their  battle-paint,  who  squatted  there  in  the  skiff, 
scanning  with  glowing  eyes  the  bank  where  my  Saguenay  and  I 
lay  concealed. 

*  This  same  man,  William  Newberry,  a  sergeant  In  Butler's  regiment ; 
and  Henry  Hare,  lieutenant  in  the  same  regiment,  were  caught  inside  the 
American  lines,  court-martialed,  convicted  of  unspeakable  cruelties,  and 
were  hung  as  spies  by  order  cf  General  Clinton,  July  6th,  1779. 


238  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

It  was  perfectly  plain,  now,  what  they  meant  to  do.  Bea- 
craft,  Cane,  and  Cuck  went  back  to  the  ruined  redoubt,  and 
presently  returned  loaded  with  packs.  Baggage  and  rifles  were 
laid  in  the  skiff. 

I  touched  Yellow  Leaf  on  the  arm,  and  we  wriggled  back- 
ward out  of  sight.  Then,  rising,  we  turned  and  pulled  foot  for 
our  canoe. 

Now  my  chiefest  anxiety  was  whether  Penelope  and  Nick  had 
got  clean  away  and  were  already  well  on  the  road  to  the  May- 
field  Block  House. 

We  found  our  canoe  where  we  had  hid  it,  and  we  made  the  still 
water  boil  with  our  two  paddles,  so  that,  although  it  seemed  an 
age  to  me,  we  came  very  swiftly  to  our  landing  at  Summer  House 
Point. 

Here  we  sprang  out,  seized  the  canoe,  ran  with  it  up  the  grassy 
slope,  then  continued  over  the  uncut  lawn  and  down  the  western 
slope,  where  again  we  launched  it  and  let  it  swing  on  the  water, 
held  anchored  by  its  nose  on  shore. 

House,  barn,  orchard,  all  were  deathly  still  there  in  the  bril- 
liant sunshine;  I  ran  to  the  manger  and  found  it  empty  of  cat- 
tle. There  were  no  fowls  to  be  seen  or  heard,  either.  Then  I 
hastened  to  the  sheep-fold.  That,  also,  was  empty. 

Perplexed,  I  ran  down  to  the  gates,  found  them  open,  and,  in 
the  mud  of  the  Johnstown  Koad,  discovered  sheep  and  cattle 
tracks,  the  imprint  of  Kaya's  sharp-shod  hoofs,  a  waggon  mark, 
and  the  plain  imprint  of  Kick's  moccasins. 

So  it  was  clear  enough  what  he  and  Penelope  had  done.  A 
terrible  anxiety  seized  me,  and  I  wondered  how  far  they  had  got 
on  the  way  to  Mayfield,  with  cattle  and  sheep  to  drive  ahead  of  a 
loaded  waggon  and  one  horse. 

And  now,  more  than  ever,  it  was  certain  that  my  Indian  and 
I  must  make  a  desperate  stand  here  to  hold  back  these  marauders 
until  our  people  were  safe  in  Mayfield  without  a  shadow  of  doubt. 

The  Saguenay  had  gone  to  the  veranda  roof  with  his  rifle, 
where  he  could  see  any  movement  by  land  or  water. 

I  called  up  to  him  that  the  destructives  might  come  by  both 
routes;  then  I  went  to  my  room,  gathered  all  the  lead  bars  and 
bags  of  bullets,  seized  our  powder  keg,  and  dragged  all  down  to 
the  water,  where  I  stored  everything  in  the  canoe. 

That  was  all  I  could  take,  save  a  sack  of  ground  corn  mixed 
with  maple  sugar,  a  flask  of  rum,  and  a  bag  of  dry  meat. 

These  articles,  with  our  fur  robes  and  blankets,  a  fish-spear, 


GREEN-COATS  239 

and  a  spontoon  which  I  discovered,  were  all  I  dared  attempt 
to  save. 

I  stood  in  the  pretty  house,  gazing  desperately  about  me,  sad 
to  leave  this  place  to  flames,  furious  to  realize  that  this  little 
lodge  must  perish,  \vhich  once  was  endeared  to  me  because  Sir 
William  loved  it,  and  now  had  become  doubly  dear  because  I 
had  given  it  to  a  young  girl  whom  I  loved — and  tenderly — yet 
desired  not  to  become  enamoured  with. 

Sunshine  fell  through  the  glazed  windows,  where  chintz  cur- 
tains stirred  in  the  wind. 

I  looked  around  at  the  Windsor  chairs,  the  table  where  we 
had  supped  together  so  often.  I  went  into  Penelope's  room  and 
looked  at  her  maple  bed,  so  white  and  fresh. 

There  was  a  skein  of  wool  yarn  on  the  table.  I  took  it;  gazed 
at  it  with  new  and  strange  emotions  a-fiddling  at  my  throat  and 
twitching  eyes  and  lips;  and  placed  it  in  the  breast  of  my  hunt- 
ing shirt. 

Then  I  listened;  but  my  Indian  overhead  remained  silent. 
So  I  went  on  through  the  house,  and  then  down  to  the  kitchen, 
where  I  saw  all  sweetly  in  order,  and  pan  and  china  bright; 
and  soupaan  still  simmering  where  Penelope  had  left  it. 

There  was  a  bowl  of  milk  there,  and  the  cream  thick  on  it. 
And  she  had  set  a  dozen  red  apples  handy,  with  flour  and  spices 
and  a  crock  of  lard  for  to  fashion  a  pie,  I  think. 

Slowly  I  went  up  stairs  and  then  out  the  kitchen  door,  across 
the  grass.  The  Saguenay  saw  me  from  above  and  made  a  sign 
that  all  was  still  quiet  on  the  Drowned  Lands. 

So  I  went  to  the  manger  again,  and  thence  to  the  barn  and 
around  the  house. 

The  lilacs  had  bursted  their  buds,  and  I  could  see  tiny  bunches 
pushing  out  on  every  naked  stem  where  the  fragrant,  grape-like 
bunches  of  bloom  should  hang  in  May. 

Then  I  looked  down,  and  remembered  where  I  had  lain  in  the 
snow  under  these  same  lilacs,  and  how  there  Penelope  had  bullied 
me  and  then  consented  to  kiss  me  on  the  mouth.  .  .  .  And,  as  I 
was  thinking  sadly  of  these  things, — bang!  went  my  Indian's 
rifle  from  the  veranda  roof. 

I  sprang  out  upon  the  west  lawn  and  saw  the  powder  cloud 
drifting  over  the  house,  and  my  Indian,  sheltered  by  the  roof, 
reloading  his  piece  on  one  knee. 

"By  water!"  he  called  out  softly,  when  he  saw  me. 

At  that  I  ran  into  the  house  by  the  front  door,  which  faced 
south;  closed  and  bolted  the  four  heavy  green  shutters  in  the 


240  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

two  rooms  on  the  ground  floor,  barred  the  south  door  and  the 
west,  or  .kitchen  door  below;  and  sprang  up  the  ladder  to  the  low 
loft  chamber,  from  whence,  stooping,  I  crept  out  of  the  south- 
gable  window  upon  the  veranda. 

This  piazza  promenade  was  nearly  as  high  as  the  eaves.  The 
gable  ends  of  the  roof,  in  which  were  windows,  faced  north  and 
south,  but  the  promenade  ran  all  around  the  east  end  and  sides, 
which,  supported  by  columns,  afforded  a  fine  rifle-platform  for 
defense  against  a  water  attack,  and  gave  us  a  wide  view  out  over 
the  mysterious  Drowned  Lands. 

It  was  a  vast  panorama  that  lay  around  us — a  great  misty 
amphitheatre  more  than  a  hundred  miles  in  circumference.  At 
our  feet  lay  that  immense  marsh  of  fifteen  thousand  acres,  called 
the  Great  Vlaie;  mountains  walled  the  Drowned  Lands  north, 
east,  west;  and  to  the  south  stretched  a  wilderness  of  pine  and 
spectral  tamaracks. 

Lying  flat  on  the  roof,  and  peering  cautiously  between  the 
spindles  of  the  railing,  I  saw,  below  on  the  Vlaie  Water,  the 
same  skiff  I  had  seen  at  Fish  House. 

In  the  heavy  skiff,  the  gunwales  of  which  were  barricaded  with 
their  military  packs,  lay  six  green-coats, — Captains  Hare  and 
Nellis,  Sergeant  Newberry,  Beacraft,  and  two  strangers  in  pri- 
vate's uniform. 

They  had  a  white  flag  set  in  the  prow. 

But  the  two  blue-eyed  Indians,  Barney  Cane  and  George  Cuck, 
were  not  with  them,  nor  were  the  two  Mohawks.  And  in  a  whis- 
per I  bade  my  Saguenay  go  around  to  the  south  gable  and  keep 
his  eye  on  the  gate  and  the  Johnstown  Road  on  the  mainland. 

Hare  took  the  white  flag  from  the  prow  and  waved  it,  the 
two  rowers  continuing  up  creek  and  heading  toward  our  landing. 

Then  I  called  out  to  them  to  halt  and  back  water;  and,  as 
they  paid  no  heed,  I  fired  at  their  white  flag,  and  knocked  the 
staff  and  rag  out  of  Hare's  hand  without  wounding  him. 

At  that  two  or  three  cried  out  angrily,  but  their  rowers  ceased 
and  began  to  back  water  hastily;  and  I,  reloading,  kept  an  eye 
on  them. 

Then  Hare  stood  up  in  the  skiff  and  bawled  through  his  hol- 
lowed hand: 

"Will  you  parley?    Or  do  you  wish  to  violate  a  flag?" 

"Keep  your  interval,  Henry  Hare!"  I  retorted.  "If  you  have 
anything  to  say,  say  it  from  where  you  are  or  I'll  drill  you 
clean!" 

"Is  that  John  Drogue,  the  Brent-Meester  1"  lie  shouted. 


GREEN-COATS  241 

"None  other,"  said  I.  "What  brings  you  to  Summer  House  in 
such  fair  weather,  Harry  Hare?" 

"I  wish  to  land  and  parley,"  he  replied.  "You  may  blindfold 
me  if  you  like." 

"When  I  put  out  your  lights,"  said  I,  "it  will  be  a  quicker 
job  than  that.  What  do  you  wish  to  do — count  our  garrison?" 

Captain  Nellis  got  up  from  his  seat  and  replied  that  he  knew 
how  many  people  occupied  Summer  House,  and  that,  desiring  to 
prevent  the  useless  effusion  of  blood,  he  demanded  our  surren- 
der under  promise  of  kind  treatment. 

I  laughed  at  him.  "No,"  said  I,  "my  hair  suits  my  head  and 
I  like  it  there  rather  than  swinging  all  red  and  wet  at  the  girdle 
of  your  blue-eyed  Indians." 

As  I  spoke  I  saw  Newberry  and  Beacraft  bring  the  butts  of 
their  rifles  to  their  shoulders,  and  I  shrank  aside  as  their  pieces 
cracked  out  sharply  across  the  water. 

Splinters  flew  from  the  painted  column  on  the  corner  of  the 
house ;  the  green-coats  all  fell  flat  in  their  skiff  and  lay  snug  there, 
hidden  by  their  packs. 

Presently,  as  I  watched,  I  saw  an  oar  poked  out. 

Very  cautiously  somebody  was  sculling  the  skiff  down  stream 
and  across  in  the  direction  of  the  reeds. 

As  the  craft  turned  to  enter  the  marsh,  I  had  a  fleeting  view 
of  the  sculler — only  his  head  and  arm — and^aw  it  was  Eli  Bea- 
craft. 

I  was  perfectly  cool  when  I  fired  on  him.  He  let  go  his  oar 
and  fell  flat  on  the  bottom  of  the  boat.  The  echo  of  my  shot 
died  away  in  wavering  cadences  among  the  shoreward  woods; 
an  intense  stillness  possessed  the  place. 

Then,  of  a  sudden,  Beacraft  fell  to  kicking  his  legs  and 
screeching,  and  so  flopped  about  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  like 
a  stranded  fish  all  over  blood. 

The  boat  nosed  in  betwen  the  marsh-grasses  and  tall  sledge,  and 
I  could  not  see  it  clearly  any  more. 

But  the  green-coats  in  it  were  no  sooner  hid  than  they  began 
firing  at  Summer  House,  and  the  storm  of  lead  ripped  and  splin- 
tered the  gallery  and  eaves,  tore  off  shingles,  shattered  chimney 
bricks,  and  rang  out  loud  on  the  iron  hinges  of  door  and  shutter. 

I  fired  a  few  shots  into  their  rifle-smoke,  then  lay  watching 
and  waiting,  and  listening  ever  for  the  loud  explosion  of  my 
Indian's  piece,  which  would  mean  that  the  painted  Tories  and 
the  Mohawks  were  stealing  upon  us  from  the  mainland. 

Every  twenty  minutes  or  so  the  men  in  the  batteau-skiff  let 


242  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

off  a  rifle  shot  at  Summer  House,  and  the  powder-cloud  rising 
among  the  dead  weeds,  pinxters,  and  button-ball  bushes,  dis- 
covered the  location  of  their  craft. 

Sometimes,  as  I  say,  I  took  a  shot  at  the  smoke;  but  time  was 
the  essence  of  my  contract,  and  God  knows  it  contented  me  to 
stand  siege  whilst  Penelope  and  Nick,  with  waggon  and  cattle, 
were  plodding  westward  toward  Mayfield. 

About  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  I  was  hungry  and  went 
to  get  me  a  piece  in  the  pantry. 

Then  I  took  Yellow  Leafs  place  whilst  he  descended  to  appease 
his  hunger. 

We  ate  our  bread  and  meat  together  on  the  roof,  our  rifles 
lying  cocked  across  our  knees. 

"Brother,"  said  I,  munching  away,  "if,  indeed,  you  be,  as  they 
say,  a  tree-eater,  and  live  on  bark  and  buds  when  there  is  no 
game  to  kill,  then  I  think  your  stomach  suffers  nothing  by  such 
diet,  for  I  want  no  better  comrade  in  a  pinch,  and  shall  always 
be  ready  to  bear  witness  to  your  bravery  and  fidelity." 

He  continued  to  eat  in  silence,  scraping  away  at  his  hot  soupaan 
with  a  pewter  spoon.  After  he  had  licked  both  spoon  and  pan- 
nikin as  clean  as  a  cat  licks  a  saucer,  he  pulled  a  piece  of  jerked 
deer  meat  in  two  and  gravely  chewed  the  morsel,  his  small,  bril- 
liant eyes  ever  roving  from  the  water  to  the  mainland. 

Presently,  without  looking  at  me,  he  said  quietly: 

"When  I  was  only  a  poor  hunter  of  the  Montagnais,  I  said  to 
myself,  'I  am  a  man,  yet  hardly  one.'  *  I  learned  that  a  Saguenay 
was  a  real  man  when  my  brother  told  me. 

"My  brother  cleared  my  eyes  and  wiped  away  the  ancient  mist 
of  tears.  I  looked;  and  lo!  I  found  that  I  was  a  real  man.  I 
was  made  like  other  men  and  not  like  a  beast  to  be  kicked  at 
and  stoned  and  driven  with  sticks  flung  at  me  in  the  forest." 

"The  Yellow  Leaf  is  a  warrior,"  I  said.  "The  Oneida  Anowara  f 
bear  witness  to  scalps  taken  in  battle  by  the  Yellow  Leaf.  Tahi- 
oni,  the  Wolf,  took  no  more." 

"Ni-ha-ron-ta-kowa,"  $  said  the  Saguenay  proudly,  "onkwe 
honwe  I  §  Yet  it  was  my  white  brother  who  cleared  my  eyes  of 
mist.  Therefore,  let  him  give  me  a  new  name — a  warrior's  name 
— meaning  that  my  vision  is  now  clear." 

*  Kon-kwe-ha.     Literally,  "I  am  a  little  of  a  real  man." 
t  "Tortoise,"  or  Noble  Clan, 
j  He  is  an  Oneida. 

§  "A  real  man,"  In  Canienga  dialect  The  Saguenay's  Iroquois  Is  **&*>&,  %vA 
Imperfect. 


GREEN-COATS  243 

"Very  well,"  said  I,  ''your  war  name  shall  be  Sak-yen- 
haton !"  * — which  was  as  good  Iroquois  as  I  could  pronounce,  and 
good  enough  for  the  Montagnais  to  comprehend,  it  seemed,  for 
a  gleam  shot  from  his  eyes,  and  I  heard  him  say  to  himself  in 
a  low  voice :  "Haiah-ya !  I  am  a  real  warrior  now !  .  .  .  Onenh ! 
at  last!" 

A  shot  came  from  the  water;  he  looked  around  contemptuously 
and  smiled. 

"My  elder  brother,"  said  he,  "shall  we  two  strip  and  set  our 
knives  between  our  teeth,  and  swim  out  to  scalp  those  musk- 
rats  yonder?" 

"And  if  they  fire  at  ua  in  the  water?"  said  I,  amused  at  his 
mad  courage,  who  had  once  been  "hardly  a  man." 

"Then  we  dive  like  Tchurako,  the  mink,  and  swim  beneath  the 
water,  as  swims  old  'long  face'  the  great  wolf -pike !  f  Shall  we 
rush  upon  them  thus,  O  my  elder  brother?" 

Absurd  as  it  was,  the  wild  idea  began  to  inflame  me,  and  I  was 
seriously  considering  our  chances  at  twilight  to  accomplish  such 
a  business,  when,  of  a  sudden,  I  saw  on  the  mainland  an  officer 
of  the  Indian  Department,  who  bore  a  white  rag  on  the  point 
of  his  hanger  and  waved  it  toward  the  house. 

He  came  across  the  Johnstown  Road  to  our  gate,  but  made  no 
motion  to  open  it,  and  stood  there  slowly  waving  his  white  flag 
and  waiting  to  be  noticed  and  hailed. 

"Keep  your  rifle  on  that  man,"  I  whispered  to  my  Indian,  "for 
I  shall  go  down  to  the  orchard  and  learn  what  are  the  true  in- 
tentions of  these  green-coats  and  blue-eyed  Indians.  Find  a 
rest  for  your  piece,  hold  steadily,  and  kill  that  flag  if  I  am 
fired  on." 

I  saw  him  stretch  out  flat  on  his  belly  and  rest  his  rifle  on 
the  veranda  rail.  Then  I  crawled  into  the  garret,  descended 
through  the  darkened  house,  and,  unbolting  the  door,  went  out 
and  down  across  the  grass  to  the  orchard. 

"What  is  your  errand?"  I  called  out,  "you  flag  there  outside 
our  gate?" 

"Is  that  you,  John  Drogue?"  came  a  familiar  voice. 

I  took  a  long  look  at  him  from  behind  my  apple  tree,  and  saw 
it  was  Jock  Campbell,  one  of  Sir  John's  Highland  brood  and 
late  a  subaltern  in  the  Royal  Provincials. 

And  that  he  should  come  here  in  a  green  coat  with  these  mur- 
derous vagabonds  incensed  me. 

*  "Disappearing  Mist" — Sakayen-gwaration. 

t  Che-go-sis — pickerel.     In  the  Oneida  dialect,  Ska-ka-lux  or  Bad-eye. 


244  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

"What  do  you  want,  Jock  Campbell!"  I  demanded,  controlling 
my  temper. 

"I  want  a  word  with  you  under  a  flag!" 

"Say  what  you  have  to  say,  but  keep  outside  that  gate!"  I 
retorted. 

"John  Drogue,"  says  he,  "we  came  here  to  burn  Summer 
House,  and  mean  to  do  it.  We  know  how  many  you  have  to  de- 
fend the  place " 

"Oh,  do  you  know  that  ?  Then  tell  me,  Jock,  if  you  truly  pos- 
sess the  information." 

"Very  well,"  said  he  calmly.  "You  are  two  white  men,  a 
Montagnais  dog,  and  a  girl.  And  pray  tell  me,  sir,  how  long 
do  you  think  you  can  hold  us  off?" 

"Well,"  said  I,  "if  you  are  as  thrifty  with  your  skins  as  you 
have  been  all  day,  then  we  should  keep  this  place  a  week  or  two 
against  you." 

"What  folly!"  he  exclaimed  hotly.  "Do  you  think  to  prevail 
against  us?" 

"Why,  I  don't  know,  Jock.  Ask  Beacraft  yonder,  who  hath  a 
bullet  in  his  belly.  He's  wiser  than  he  was  and  should  offer 
you  good  counsel." 

"I  offer  you  safe  conduct  if  you  march  out  at  once!"  he 
shouted. 

"I  offer  you  one  of  Beacraft's  pills  if  you  do  not  instantly 
about  face  and  march  into  the  bush  yonder !"  I  replied. 

At  that  he  dashed  the  flag  upon  the  road  and  shook  his  naked 
sword  at  me. 

"Your  blood  be  on  your  heads!"  he  bawled.  "I  can  not  hold 
my  Indians  if  you  defy  them  longer!" 

"Well,  then,  Jock,"  said  I,  "I'll  hold  'em  for  you,  never  fear!" 

He  strode  to  the  fence  and  grasped  it. 

"Will  you  march  out?  Shame  on  you,  Stormont,  who  are  se- 
duced by  this  Yankee  rabble  o'  rebels  when  your  place  is  with 
Sir  John  and  with  the  loyal  gentlemen  of  Try  on! 

"For  the  last  time,  then,  will  you  parley  and  march  out?  Or 
shall  I  give  you  and  your  Caughnawaga  wench  to  my  Indians?" 

I  walked  out  from  behind  my  tree  and  drew  near  the  fence, 
where  he  was  standing,  his  sword  hanging  from  one  wrist  by 
the  leather  knot. 

"Jock  Campbell,"  said  I,  "you  are  a  great  villain.  Do  you 
lay  aside  your  hanger  and  your  pistols,  and  I  will  set  my  rifle 
here,  arid  we  shall  soon  see  what  your  bragging  words  are  worth." 

At  that  he  drove  his  sword  into  the  earth,  but,  as  I  set  my  rifle 


GEEEN-COATS  245 

against  a  tree,  he  lifted  his  pistol  and  fired  at  me,  and  I  felt  the 
wind  of  the  bullet  on  my  right  cheek. 

Then  he  snatched  his  sword  and  was  already  vaulting  the  gate, 
when  my  Saguenay's  bullet  caught  him  in  mid-air,  and  he  fell 
across  the  top  rail  and  slid  down  on  the  muddy  road  outside. 

Then,  for  the  first  time,  I  saw  the  two  real  Mohawks  where 
they  lay  in  ambush  in  the  bush.  One  of  them  had  risen  to  a 
kneeling  position,  and  I  saw  the  red  flash  of  his  piece  and  saw 
the  smoke  blot  out  the  tree-trunk. 

For  a  second  I  held  my  fire;  then  saw  them  both  on  the  ground 
under  the  alders  across  the  road,  and  fired  very  carefully  at  the 
nearest  one. 

He  dropped  his  gun  and  let  out  a  startling  screech,  tried  to 
get  up  off  the  ground,  screeching  all  the  while;  then  lay  scrab- 
bling on  the  dead  leaves. 

I  stepped  behind  an  apple  tree,  primed  and  reloaded  in  des- 
perate haste,  and  presently  drew  the  fire  of  the  other  Indian  with 
my  cap  on  my  ramrod. 

Then,  as  I  ran  to  the  gate,  my  Saguenay  rushed  by  me,  leap- 
ing the  fence  at  a  great  bound,  and  I  saw  his  up-flung  hatchet 
sparkle,  and  heard  it  crash  through  bone. 

I  shouted  for  him  to  come  back,  but  when  he  obeyed  he  had 
two  Mohawk  scalps,*  and  came  reluctantly,  glancing  down  at 
Campbell  where  he  lay  still  breathing  on  the  muddy  road,  and 
darting  an  uncertain  glance  at  me. 

But  I  told  him  with  an  oath  that  it  would  be  an  insult  to  me 
if  he  touched  a  white  man's  hair  in  my  presence;  and  he  opened 
the  gate  and  came  inside  like  a  great,  sullen  dog  from  whom  I 
had  snatched  a  bone  of  his  own  digging. 

Very  cautiously  we  retreated  through  the  orchard  to  the  house, 
entered,  and  climbed  again  to  the  roof. 

And  from  there  we  saw  that,  in  our  absence,  the  boat  had 
been  rowed  to  our  landing,  and  that  its  occupants  were  now 
somewhere  on  the  mainland,  doubtless  preparing  to  assault  the 
place  as  soon  as  dusk  offered  them  sufficient  cover. 

Well,  the  game  was  nearly  up  now.  Our  people  should  have 
arrived  by  this  time  at  Mayfield  with  sheep,  cattle,  and  waggon. 
We  had  remained  here  to  the  limit  of  safety,  and  there  was  no 

*  In  October,  1919,  the  author  talked  to  a  farmer  and  his  son,  who,  a  few 
days  previously,  while  digging  sand  to  mend  the  Johnstown  road  at  this  point, 
had  disinterred  two  skeletons  which  had  been  buried  there.  From  the  shape 
ol  the  skulls,  it  is  presumed  that  the  remains  were  Indian. 


246  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

hope  of  aid  in  time  to  save  our  skins  or  this  house  from  de- 
struction. 

The  sun  was  low  over  the  forest  when,  at  length,  we  crept  out 
of  the  house  and  stole  down  to  our  canoe. 

We  made  no  sound  when  we  embarked,  and  our  craft  glided 
away  under  the  rushes,  driven  by  cautiously-dipped  paddles  which 
left  only  silent  little  swirls  on  the  dark  and  glassy  stream. 

Up  Mayfield  Creek  we  turned,  which,  above,  is  not  fair  canoe- 
water  save  at  flood;  but  now  the  spring  melting  filled  it  brim- 
full,  and  a  heavy  current  set  into  Vlaie  Water  so  that  there  was 
labour  ahead  for  us;  and  we  bent  to  it  as  dusk  fell  over  the 
Drowned  Lands. 

It  was  not  yet  full  dark  when,  over  my  shoulder,  I  saw  a  faint 
rose  light  in  the  north.  And  I  knew  that  Summer  House  was 
on  fire. 

Then,  swiftly  the  rosy  light  grew  to  a  red  glow,  and,  as  we 
watched,  a  great  conflagration  flared  in  the  darkness,  mounting 
higher,  burning  redder,  fiercer,  till,  around  us,  vague  smouldering 
shadows  moved,  and  the  water  was  touched  with  ashy  glimmer- 
ings. 

Summer  House  was  all  afire,  and  the  infernal  light  touched 
us  even  here,  painting  our  features  and  the  paddle-blades,  and 
staining  the  dark  water  with  a  prophecy  of  blood. 

It  was  a  long  and  irksome  paddle,  what  with  floating  trees  we 
encountered  and  the  stream  over  its  banks  and  washing  us  into 
sedge  and  brush  and  rafts  of  weed  in  the  darkness.  Again  and 
again,  checked  by  some  high  dam  of  drifted  windfall,  we  were 
forced  to  make  a  swampy  carry,  waist  high  through  bog  and 
water. 

Often,  so,  we  were  forced  to  rest;  and  we  sat  silent,  panting, 
skin-soaked  in  the  chilly  night  air,  gazing  at  the  distant  fire, 
which,  though  now  miles  away,  seemed  so  near.  And  I  could  even 
see  trees  black  against  the  blaze,  and  smoke  rolling  turbulently, 
and  a  great  whirl  of  sparks  mounting  skyward. 

It  was  long  past  midnight  when  I  hailed  the  picket  at  the 
grist-aaill  and  drove  our  canoe  shoreward  into  the  light  of  a  lifted 
lantern. 

"Is  Nick  Stoner  in?"  I  called  out. 

"All  safe!"  replied  somebody  on  shore. 

A  dark  figure  came  down  to  the  water  and  took  hold  of  our 
bow  to  steady  us. 


GREEN-COATS  247 

"Summer  House  and  Fish  House  are  burned,"  said  I,  climbing 
out  stiffly. 

"Aye,"  said  the  soldier,  "and  what  of  Fonda's  Bush,  Mr. 
Drogue  ?" 

"What!"  I  exclaimed,  startled. 

"Look  yonder,"  said  he. 

I  scarce  know  how  I  managed  to  stumble  up  the  bushy  bank. 
And  then,  when  I  came  out  on  level  land  near  the  block  house, 
I  saw  fire  to  the  southeast,  and  the  sky  crimson  above  the 
forest. 

"My  God!"  I  stammered,  "Fonda's  Bush  is  all  afire!" 

There  was  a  red  light  toward  Frenchman's  Creek,  too,  but 
where  Fonda's  Bush  should  lie  a  vast  sea  of  fire  rose  and  ebbed 
and  waxed  and  faded  above  the  forest. 

"Were  any  people  left  there?"  I  asked. 

"None,  sir." 

"Thank  God,"  I  said.  But  my  heart  was  desolate,  for  now 
my  house  of  logs  that  I  had  builded  and  loved  was  gone;  my 
glebe  destroyed;  all  my  toil  come  to  naught  in  the  distant  mock- 
ery of  those  shaking  flames.  All  I  had  in  the  world  was  gone 
save  for  my  slender  funds  in  Albany. 

"Where  are  my  friends?"  said  I  to  a  soldier. 

"At  the  Block  House,  sir,  and  very  anxious  concerning  you. 
They  have  not  long  been  in,  but  Nick  Stoner  is  all  for  going 
back  to  Summer  House  to  discover  your  whereabouts,  and  has 
been  beating  up  recruits  for  a  flying  scout." 

Even  as  he  spoke,  I  saw  Nick  come  up  the  road  with  a  torch, 
and  called  out  to  him. 

"Where  have  you  been,  John  Drogue?"  said  he,  coming  to  me 
and  laying  a  hand  on  my  shoulder. 

"Is  Penelope  safe?"  I  asked. 

"She  is  as  safe  as  are  any  here  in  Mayfield.  Is  it  Summer 
House  that  burns  in  the  north,  or  only  the  marsh  hay?" 

"The  whole  place  is  afire,"  said  I.  "A  dozen  green-coats,  blue- 
eyed  Indians,  and  two  real  ones,  burnt  Fish  House  and  attacked 
us  at  Summer  House.  I  saw  and  knew  Jock  Campbell,  Henry 
Hare,  Billy  Newberry,  Barney  Cane,  Eli  Beacraft,  and  George 
Cuck.  My  Saguenay  mortally  wounded  Jock.  He's  lying  on 
the  road.  He  tomahawked  a  Canienga,  too,  and  took  his  scalp 
and  another's." 

"Did  you  mark  any  of  the  dirty  crew?"  demanded  Nick. 

"I  shot  Beacraft  and  one  Mohawk.  How  many  are  we  at  the 
Block  House?" 


248  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

"A  full  company  to  hold  it  safe,"  said  he,  gloomily.  "Do  you 
know  that  Fonda's  Bush  is  burning?" 

"Yes." 

After  a  silence  I  said:  "Who  commands  here?  I  think  we 
ought  to  move  toward  Johnstown  this  night.  I  don't  know 
how  many  green-coats  have  come  to  the  Sacandaga,  but  it  must 
have  been  another  detachment  that  is  burning  Fonda's  Bush." 

As  I  spoke  a  Continental  Captain  followed  by  a  Lieutenant 
came  up  in  the  torchlight;  and  I  gave  him  his  salute  and  ren- 
dered an  account  of  what  had  happened  on  the  Drowned  Lands. 

He  seemed  deeply  disturbed  but  told  me  he  had  orders  to 
defend  the  Mayfield  Fort.  He  added,  however,  that  if  I  must 
report  at  Johnstown  he  would  give  me  a  squad  of  musket-men 
as  escort  thither. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  I,  "my  report  should  not  be  delayed.  But  I 
have  Nick  Stoner  and  an  Indian,  and  apprehend  no  danger.  So 
if  I  may  beg  a  dish  of  porridge  for  my  little  company,  and  dry 
my  clothing  by  your  block-house  fireplace,  I  shall  set  out  within 
the  hour." 

He  was  very  civil, — a  tall,  haggard,  careworn  man,  whose  wife 
and  children  lived  at  Torloch,  and  their  undefended  situation 
caused  him  deep  anxiety. 

So  I  walked  to  the  Fort,  Nick  and  my  Indian  following; 
and  presently  saw  Penelope  on  the  rifle-platform  of  the  stockade, 
among  the  soldiers. 

She  was  gazing  at  the  fiery  sky  in  the  north  when  I  caught 
sight  of  her  and  called  her  name. 

For  a  moment  she  bent  swiftly  down  over  the  pickets  as  though 
to  pierce  the  dark  where  my  voice  came  from;  then  she  turned, 
and  was  descending  the  ladder  when  I  entered  by  the  postern. 

As  I  came  up  she  took  my  shoulders  between  both  hands,  but 
said  nothing,  and  I  saw  she  had  trouble  to  speak. 

"Yes,"  said  I,  "there  is  bad  news  for  you.  Your  pretty  Sum- 
mer House  is  no  more,  Penelope." 

"Oh,"  she  stammered,  "did  you — did  you  suppose  it  was  the 
loss  of  a  house  that  has  driven  me  out  o'  my  five  senses!" 

"Are  your  sheep  and  cattle  safe?"  I  asked  in  sudden  alarm. 

"My  God,"  she  breathed,  and  stood  with  her  face  in  both 
hands,  there  at  the  foot  of  the  ladder  under  the  April  stars. 

"What  is  it  frightens  you?"  I  asked. 

Her  hands  fell  to  her  side  and  she  looked  at  me:  "Nothing, 
sir.  .  .  .  Unless  it  be  myself,"  she  said  calmly.  "Your  clothing 
is  wet  and  you  are  shivering.  Will  you  come  into  the  fort?" 


GREEN-COAT^  249 

We  went  in.  I  remembered  how  I  had  seen  her  there  that 
night,  nearly  a  year  ago,  and  all  the  soldiers  gathered  around  to 
entertain  her,  whilst  she  supped  on  porridge  and  smiled  upon 
them  over  her  yellow  bowl's  edge,  like  a  very  child. 

The  few  soldiers  inside  rose  respectfully.  A  sergeant  drew 
a  settle  to  the  blazing  fire;  a  soldier  brought  us  soupaan  and 
a  gill  of  rum.  Nick  came  in  with  the  Saguenay,  and  they  both 
squatted  down  in  their  blankets  before  the  fire,  grave  as  a  pair 
o'  cats;  and  there  they  ate  their  fill  of  porridge  at  our  feet,  and 
blinked  at  the  blaze  and  smoked  their  clays  in  silence. 

I  told  Penelope  that  we  must  travel  this  night  to  Johnstown, 
it  being  my  duty  to  give  an  account  of  what  had  happened,  without 
delay. 

"There  can  be  no  danger  to  us  on  the  road,"  said  I,  "but  the 
thought  of  leaving  you  here  in  this  fort  disturbs  me." 

"What  would  I  do  here  alone?"  she  asked. 

"What  will  you  do  alone  in  Johnstown  I"  I  inquired  in  turn. 

At  the  same  time  I  realized  that  we  both  were  utterly  homeless ; 
and  that  in  Johnstown  our  shelter  must  be  a  tavern,  or,  if  danger 
threatened,  the  fortified  jail  called  Johnstown  Fort. 

"You  will  not  abandon  me,  will  you,  sir?"  she  asked,  touching 
my  sleeve  with  the  pretty  confidence  of  a  child. 

"Why,  no,"  said  I.  "We  can  lodge  at  Jimmy  Burke's  Tavern. 
And  there  is  Nick  to  give  us  countenance — and  a  most  respectable 
Indian." 

"Is  it  scandalous  for  me  to  go  thither  in  your  company  ?" 

"What  else  is  there  for  us  to  do?" 

"I  should  go  to  Albany,"  said  she,  "as  soon  as  may  be.  And 
I  am  resolved  to  do  so  and  to  seek  out  Mr.  Fonda  and  disembarrass 
you  of  any  further  care  for  me." 

'It  is  no  burden,"  said  I;  "but  I  do  not  know  where  I  shall  be 
sent,  now  that  the  war  is  come  to  Tryon  County.  And — I  can 
not  bear  to  think  of  you  alone  and  unprotected,  living  the 
miserable  life  of  a  refugee  in  the  women's  quarters  at  Johnstown 
Fort." 

"Does  solicitude  for  my  welfare  truly  occupy  your  thoughts, 
sir!" 

"Why,  yes,  and  naturally.  Are  we  not  close  friends  and  com- 
rades in  misfortune,  Penelope?" 

"I  counted  it  no  misfortune  to  live  at  Summer  House." 

"No,  nor  I.  ...  I  was  very  happy  there.  ...  Alas  for  your 
pretty  cottage! — poor  little  chatelaine  of  Summer  House!" 

"John  Drogue?" 


250  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

"I  hear  you." 

"Did  you  suppose  I  ever  meant  to  take  that  gift  of  you?" 

"Why — why,  yes!  I  gave  it!  Even  now  I  have  the  deed  to 
the  land  and  shall  convey  it  to  you.  And  one  day,  God  willing, 
a  new  cottage  shall  be  built " 

"Then  you  must  build  it,  John  Drogue,  for  the  land  is  yours  and 
I  never  meant  to  take  it  of  you,  and  never  shall.  .  .  .  And  I 
thank  you, — and  am  deeply  beholden — and  touched  in  my  heart's 
deep  depths — that  you  have  offered  this  to  me.  .  .  .  Because 
you  desired  me  to  be  respectable,  and  well  considered  by  men. 
.  .  .  And  you  wished  me  to  possess  substance  which  I  lacked — 
so  that  none  could  dare  use  me  lightly  and  without  considera- 
tion. .  .  .  And  I  promise  you  that  I  have  learned  my  lesson. 
You  have  schooled  me  well,  Mr.  Drogue.  .  .  .  And  if  for  no 
other  reason  save  respect  for  you,  and  gratitude.  I  promise  you 
I  shall  so  conduct  hereafter  that  you  shall  have  no  reason  to 
think  contemptuously  of  me." 

"I  never  held  you  in  contempt." 

"Yes;  when  I  stole  your  horse;  and  when  you  deemed  me  easy — 
and  proved  me  so " 

"I  meant  it  not  that  way!"  said  I,  reddening. 

"Yet  it  was  so,  John  Drogue.  I  was  not  difficult.  I  meant  no 
Barm,  but  had  not  sense  enough  to  know  harm  when  it  approached 
me !  .  .  .  And  so  I  thank  you  for  schooling  me.  But  I  never  could 
have  taken  any  gift  from  you." 

After  a  silence  I  rose  and  went  into  the  officer's  quarters. 

The  Continental  Captain  was  lying  on  his  trundle-bed,  but  got 
up  and  sent  two  men  to  harness  Kaya  to  our  waggon. 

I  told  him  I  should  leave  all  stores  and  provisions  with  him, 
and  asked  if  he  would  look  after  our  sheep  and  cattle  and  fowls 
until  they  could  be  fetched  to  Johnstown  and  cared  for  there. 

He  was  a  most  kindly  man,  and  promised  to  care  for  our 
creatures,  saying  that  the  eggs  and  milk  would  be  welcome  to  his 
garrison,  and  that  if  he  took  a  lamb  or  two  he  would  pay  for  it 
on  demand. 

So  when  our  waggon  drove  up  in  the  darkness  outside,  he  came 
and  took  leave  of  us  all  very  kindly,  saying  he  hoped  that  Penelope 
would  be  safe  in  Johnstown,  and  that  the  raiders  would  soon 
be  driven  out  of  the  Sacandaga. 

I  gave  him  our  canoe,  for  which  he  seemed  grateful. 

Then  I  helped  Penelope  into  the  waggon,  got  in  myself  and  took 
the  reins.  Nick  and  the  Saguenay  vaulted  into  the  box  and  lay 
down  on  our  pile  of  furs  and  blankets. 


GREEN-COATS  251 

And  so  we  drove  out  of  the  stockade  and  onto  the  Johnstown 
Road,  Penelope  in  a  wolf-robe  beside  me,  and  both  her  hands 
clasped  around  my  left  arm. 

"Are  you  a-chill?"  I  asked. 

"I  do  not  know  what  ails  me,"  she  murmured,  "but — the  world 
is  so  vast  and  dark.  .  .  .  and  God  is  so  far — so  far " 

"You  are  unhappy." 

"No." 

"You  grieve  for  somebody?" 

"No,  I  do  not  grieve." 

"Are  you  lonesome?" 

"I  do  not  know  if  I  am.  ...  I  do  not  know  why  I  tremble  so. 
.  .  .  The  world  is  so  dark  and  vast.  ...  I  am  so  small  a  thing 
to  be  alone  in  it.  ...  It  is  the  war,  perhaps,  that  awes  me. 
It  seems  so  near  now.  Alas  for  the  battles  to  be  fought! — the 
battles  in  the  North.  .  .  .  Where  you  shall  be,  John  Drogue." 

"You  said  that  once  before." 

"Yes.  I  saw  you  there  against  a  cannon's  rising  cloud.  .  .  .  And 
a  white  shape  near  you." 

"You  said  it  was  Death,"  I  reminded  her. 

"Death  or  a  bride.  ...  I  did  not  wish  to  see  that  vision.  I 
never  desire  to  see  such  things." 

"Pooh !    Do  you  really  believe  in  dreams,  Penelope  ?" 

"There  were  strange  uniforms  there,"  she  murmured,  " — not 
red-coats." 

"Oh;  green-coats!" 

"No.  I  never  saw  the  like.  I  never  saw  such  soldiery  in 
England  or  in  France  or  in  America." 

"They  were  only  dream  soldiers,"  said  I  gaily.  "So  now  you 
must  laugh  a  little,  and  take  heart,  Penelope,  because  if  we  two 
have  been  made  homeless  this  night  by  fire,  still  we  are  young, 
and  in  health,  and  have  all  life  before  us.  Come,  then!  Shall 
we  be  melancholy?  And  if  there  are  to  be  battles  in  the  North, 
why,  there  will  be  battles,  and  some  must  die  and  some  survive. 

"So,  in  the  meanwhile,  shall  we  be  merry?" 

"If  you  wish,  sir." 

"Excellent!  Sing  me  a  pretty  French  song — low  voiced — 
in  my  ear,  Penelope,  whilst  I  guide  my  horse." 

"What  song,  sir?" 

'What  you  will." 

So,  holding  my  arm  with  both  her  hands,  she  leaned  close 
to  me  on  the  jolting  seat  and  placed  her  lips  at  my  ear;  and 


252  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

sang  "Malbrook,"  as  we  drove  toward  Johnstown  through  the  dark 
forest  under  the  April  stars. 

Something  hot  touched  my  cheek. 

"Why,  Penelope!"  said  I,  "are  you  weeping?" 

She  shook  her  head,  rested  her  forehead  a  moment  against  my 
shoulder,  and,  sitting  so,  strove  to  continue — 

"II  ne — ne  reviendra — " 

Her  voice  sank  to  a  tremulous  whisper  and  she  bowed  her 
face  in  her  two  hands  and  rested  so  in  silence,  her  slender  form 
swaying  with  the  swaying  waggon. 

It  was  plain  to  me  that  the  child  was  afeard.  The  shock  of 
flight,  the  lurid  tokens  of  catastrophe  in  the  heavens,  the  alarm- 
ing rumours  in  those  darkening  hours,  anxiety,  suspense,  all  had 
contributed  to  shake  a  heart  both  gentle  and  courageous. 

For  in  the  thickening  gloom  around  us  a  very  murk  of  murder 
seemed  to  brood  over  this  dark  and  threatened  land,  seeming  to 
grow  more  sinister  and  more  imminent  as  the  fading  crimson 
in  the  northern  heavens  paled  to  a  sickly  hue  in  the  first  faint 
pallor  of  the  coming  dawn. 


CHAPTEK  XXV 

BURKE'S  TAVERN 

NOW,  whether  it  was  the  wetting  I  got  on  Mayfield  Creek  and 
the  chill  I  took  on  the  long  night's  journey  to  Johnstown, 
or  if  my  thigh-wound  became  inflamed  from  that  day's  exertion 
at  Fish  House,  Summer  House,  and  Mayfield,  I  do  not  know  for 
certain. 

But  when  at  sunrise  we  drove  up  to  Jimmy  Burke's  Tavern  in 
Johnstown,  I  discovered  that  I  could  not  move  my  right  leg;  and, 
to  my  mortification,  Nick  and  my  Indian  were  forced  to  make  a 
swinging  chair  of  their  linked  hands,  and  carry  me  into  the 
tavern,  Penelope  following  forlornly,  her  arms  full  of  furs  and 
blankets. 

Here  was  a  pretty  dish  I  But  try  as  I  might  I  could  not  set  my 
foot  to  the  ground;  so  they  laid  me  upon  a  bed  and  stripped  me, 
and  my  Saguenay  wrapped  my  leg  in  hot  blankets  and  laid  furs 
over  me,  till  I  was  wet  with  sweat  to  the  hair. 

Presently  comes  Jimmy  Burke  himself — that  lively,  lovable 
scamp,  to  whom  all  were  friendly;  for  he  was  both  kind  and 
gay,  though  a  great  braggart,  and  few  believed  that  he  had  any 
stomach  for  the  deeds  he  said  he  meant  to  do  in  battle. 

'Taith,"  says  he,  "it's  Misther  Drogue,  God  bless  him,  an'  in 
a  sad  plight  along  o'  the  bloody  Sacandaga  Tories!  Wisha  then, 
sorr,  had  I  been  there  it's  me  would  ha'  trimmed  the  hair  o' 
them!" 

"Are  you  well,  Jimmy?"  I  inquired,  smiling,  spite  my  pain. 

"Am  I  well?  I  am  that!  I  was  never  fitter  fr  to  fight  thim 
dirty  green  coats  of  Sir  John's.  Och — the  poor  lad!  Lave  me 
fetch  a  hot  brick " 

"I'm  lame  as  a  one-legged  duck,  Jimmy,"  said  I.  "Send  word 
to  the  Fort  that  I've  an  account  to  render,  and  beg  the  Com- 
mandant to  overlook  my  tardiness  until  I  can  be  carried  thither 
on  a  litter." 

"And  th'  yoong  leddy,  sorr?    Will  she  bait  here?" 

"Yes;  where  is  she?" 

"She  lies  on  a  wolf-skin  on  the  bed  in  the  next  chamber,  fore- 

253 


254  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

must  the  wall,  sorr.  There's  tears  on  her  purty  face,  but  I  think 
she  sleeps,  fr  all  that.  Is  she  hurted,  too,  Misther  Drogue?" 

"Oh,  no.  When  she  wakes  send  a  maid-servant  to  care  for 
her.  Find  a  loft-bed  for  my  Indian  and  give  him  no  rum — mind 
that,  James  Burke! — or  we  quarrel." 

"Th'  red  divil  gets  no  sup  in  my  shabeen!"  said  he.  "Do  I 
lave  him  gorge  or  no  ?" 

"Certainly.  Let  him  stuff  himself.  And  let  no  man  use  him 
with  contempt.  He  is  faithful  and  brave.  He  is  my  friend. 
Do  you  mark  me,  Jimmy  ?" 

"I  do,  sorr.  And  Nick  Stoner — that  long-legged  limb  of  Satan  I 
— av  he  plays  anny  thricks  on  Jimmy  Burke  may  God  help  him — 
the  poor  little  scut ! " 

I  had  some  faint  recollection  of  pranks  played  upon  Burke  by 
Nick  in  this  same  tavern;  but  what  he  had  done  to  Jimmy  I  did 
not  remember,  save  that  it  had  set  Sir  William  and  the  town  all 
a-laughing. 

"Nick  is  a  good  lad  and  my  friend,"  said  I.  "Use  him  kindly. 
Your  wit  is  a  match  for  his,  anyway,  and  so  are  your  fists." 

"Is  it  so !"  muttered  Burke,  casting  a  smouldering  side-look 
at  me.  "D'ye  mind  what  he  done  three  year  come  Shrove 
Tuesday?  The  day  I  gave  out  I  was  a  better  man  than  Sir 
William's  new  blacksmith?  Well,  then — av  ye  disremember — 
that  scut  of  a  Nick  shtole  me  breeches,  an'  he  put  them  on  a  billy- 
goat,  an'  tuk  him  to  the  tap-room  where  was  company.  An', 
*Here,'  says  he,  'is  a  better  Irishman  than  you,  Jimmy  Burke  I — 
an'  a  better  fighter,  too.'  An'  wid  that  the  damned  goat  rares 
up  an'  butts  me  over;  an'  up  I  gets  an'  he  butts  me  over,  an'  up 
an'  down  I  go,  an'  the  five  wits  clean  knocked  out  o'  me,  an'  the 
company  an'  Sir  William  all  yelling  like  loons  an'  laying  odds 
on  the  goat " 

I  lay  there  convulsed  with  laughter,  remembering  now  this 
prank  of  the  most  mischievous  boy  I  ever  knew. 

Burke  licked  his  lips  grimly  at  the  memory  of  that  ancient 
wrong. 

"Sure,  he's  th'  bould  wan  f  r  to  come  into  me  house  wid  the 
score  unreckoned  an'  all  that  balance  agin'  him." 

"Touch  pewter  with  him  and  forgive  the  lad,"  said  I.  "These 
are  sterner  days,  Jimmy,  and  we  should  cherish  no  private  malice 
here  where  we  may  be  put  to  it  to  stand  siege." 

"Is  it  thrue,  sor,  that  the  destructives  are  on  the  Sacandaga  ?" 

"Yes,  it  is  true.  Fish  House,  Summer  House,  and  Fonda's 
Bush  are  in  ashes,  Jimmy,  and  your  late  friend,  Sir  John,  is  at 


BUEKE'S  TAVERN  255 

Buck  Island  with  a  thousand  Indians,  regulars,  and  Tories,  and 
like  to  pay  us  a  call  before  planting  time." 

"Oh,  my  God,"  says  Burke,  "the  divil  take  Sir  John  an'  the 
black  heart  of  him  av  he  comes  back  here  to  murther  his  old 
neighbors !  Sorra  the  day  we  let  him  scape ! — him  an'  Alex 
White,  an'  Toby  Tice  an'  moody  Wally  Butler, — an'  ould  John, 
an'  Indian  Glaus,  an'  Black  Guy! — may  the  divil  take  the  whole 
Tory  ruck  o'  them! " 

He  checked  himself;  behind  him,  through  the  door,  entered 
a  Continental  Captain;  and  I  sat  up  in  bed  to  do  him  courtesy. 

As  I  suspected,  here  proved  to  be  our  Commandant  come  to 
learn  of  me  my  news;  and  it  presently  appeared  that  Nick  had 
run  to  the  jail  with  an  account  of  how  I  lay  here  crippled. 

Well,  the  Commandant  was  a  simple,  kindly  man,  whose  present 
anxiety  made  little  of  military  custom.  And  so  he  had  come 
instantly  to  learn  my  news  of  me;  and  we  talked  there  alone  for 
an  hour. 

At  his  summons  a  servant  fetched  paper,  ink,  pen  and  sand ;  and, 
whilst  he  looked  on,  I  wrote  out  my  report  to  him. 

Also,  I  made  for  him  a  drawing  of  the  Drowned  Lands  from 
Fish  House  to  Mayfield,  marking  all  roads  and  paths  and  trails, 
and  all  canoe  water,  carries,  and  cleared  land.  For,  as  Brent- 
Meester,  no  man  had  more  accurate  knowledge  of  Tryon  than  had 
I;  and  it  was  all  clearly  in  my  mind,  so  that  to  make  a  map  of 
it  proved  no  task  at  all. 

I  asked  him  if  I  was  to  remain  detached  and  with  authority  to 
raise  a  company  of  rangers — as  had  once  been  given  me — or 
whether,  perhaps,  the  Line  lacked  commissioned  officers,  saying 
that  it  was  all  one  to  me  and  that  I  wished  only  to  serve  where  most 
needed. 

He  replied  that,  unless  I  went  to  Morgan's  corps  of  Virginia 
Riflemen,  concerning  which  detail  he  had  heard  some  talk, 
my  full  value  lay  in  my  woodcraft  and  in  my  wide,  personal 
knowledge  of  the  wilderness. 

"Who  better  than  you,  Mr.  Drogue,  could  take  a  scout  to  this 
same  Buck  Island,  where  Sir  John's  hordes  are  gathering?  Who 
better  than  yourself  could  undertake  a  swift  and  secret  mission 
to  any  point  within  the  confines  of  this  vast  desolation  of  moun- 
tain, lake,  and  forest,  which  promises  soon  to  be  the  theatre  of  a 
most  bloody  struggle? 

"Champlain  already  spews  red-coats  upon  us  in  the  North.    Sir 

'  John  threatens  in  the  West.    A  great  army  menaces  the  Highland 

Forts  and  Albany  from  the  South.    And  only  such  officers  as  you, 


256  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

sir,  are  competent  to  discover  and  dog  the  march  of  enemy 
marauders,  come  to  touch  with  their  scouts,  follow  and  ambush 
them,  and  lead  others  to  vital  points  across  an  uncharted  world 
of  woods  when  there  are  raiders  to  check  or  communications  to 
threaten  and  cut." 

He  rose,  hooked  up  his  sword,  and  shook  hands  with  me. 

<fl  have  asked  Colonel  Willett,"  said  he,  "to  use  your  talents 
in  this  manner,  and  he  has  very  kindly  consented.  Johnstown 
will  remain  your  base,  therefore,  and  your  employment  is  certain 
as  soon  as  you  are  able  to  walk." 

I  thanked  him  and  said  very  confidently  that  I  should  be 
rid  of  all  lameness  and  pain  within  a  day  or  so. 

That  night  I  had  a  fever;  and  for  nearly  four  weeks  my  leg 
remained  swollen  and  red,  and  the  pain  was  such  that  I  could  not 
bear  the  weight  of  a  linen  sheet,  and  Nick  made  a  frame  for  my 
bed-covers,  like  a  tent,  so  that  they  should  not  touch  me. 

Dr.  Younglove  came  from  the  Flatts, — who  was  surgeon  in 
General  Herkimer's  brigade  of  militia — and  he  said  it  was  a 
pernicious  rheumatism  consequent  upon  the  cold  wetting  I  got 
upon  a  wound  still  green. 

Further,  he  concluded,  there  was  naught  to  do  save  that  I  must 
lie  on  my  back  until  my  trouble  departed  of  its  own  accord;  but 
he  could  not  say  how  soon  that  might  me — whether  within  a 
day  or  two  or  as  many  months,  or  more. 

He  recommended  hot  blankots  and  some  draughts  which  they 
sent  me  from  the  pharmacy  at  the  Fort,  but  I  think  they  did  me 
neither  good  nor  evil,  but  were  pleasant  and  spicy  and  cooled  my 
throat. 

So  that  was  now  the  dog's  life  I  led  during  the  early  summer 
in  Johnstown, — a  most  vexatious  and  inglorious  career,  laid  by  the 
heels  at  a  time  when,  from  three  points  o'  the  compass,  three 
separate  storms  were  brewing  and  darkening  the  heavens,  and  a 
tempest  more  frightful  than  man  could  conceive  was  threatening 
to  shatter  Tryon,  sweep  the  whole  Mohawk  Valley,  and  leave 
Johnstown  but  a  whirl  of  whitened  ashes  in  the  evening  winds. 

We  were  comfortably  established  at  Burke's  Inn,  and,  as  al- 
ways, baited  well  where  food  and  bed  were  ever  clean  and  good. 

Penelope  had  the  chamber  next  to  mine;  Nick  slept  in  the 
little  bedroom  on  my  left;  and  the  Saguenay  haunted  the  kitchen, 
with  a  perpetual  appetite  never  damaged  by  gorging. 

All  the  news  of  town  and  country  was  fetched  me  by  word 


BURKE 'S  TAVERN  257 

o'  mouth,  by  penny  broadsides,  by  journals,  so  that  I  never  wanted 
for  gossip  to  entertain  or  alarm  me. 

Town  tattle,  rumours  from  West  and  North,  camp  news  conveyed 
by  Coureurs-du-Bois,  by  runners,  by  expresses,  all  this  came  to  my 
chamber  where  I  lay  impatient,  brought  sometimes  by  Burke, 
often  by  Nick,  more  often  by  Penelope. 

She  was  very  kind  and  patient  with  me.  In  the  first  feverish 
and  agonizing  days  of  my  illness  I  had  sent  for  her,  and  begged 
her  to  take  the  first  convenient  waggon  and  escort  into  Albany, 
where  surely  Douw  Fonda  would  now  care  for  her  and  the 
Patroon's  household  would  welcome  and  shelter  her  until  the  on- 
coming storm  had  passed  and  her  aged  charge  should  again  return 
to  Caughnawaga. 

She  would  not  go,  but  gave  no  reason.  And,  my  sickness 
making  me  peevish,  I  was  often  fretful  and  short  with  her ;  and  so 
badgered  and  bullied  her  that  one  night,  in  desperation,  she 
wrote  a  letter  to  Douw  Fonda  at  my  request,  offering  to  go  to 
Albany  and  care  for  him  if  he  desired  it. 

But  presently  there  came  a  polite  letter  in  reply,  writ  kindly 
to  her  by  the  young  Patroon  himself,  who  very  delicately  re- 
vealed how  it  was  with  Mr.  Fonda.  And  it  appeared  that  he  had 
become  childish  from  great  age,  and  seemed  now  to  retain  no 
memory  of  her,  and  desired  not  to  be  cared  for  by  anybody — as 
he  said — who  was  a  stranger  to  him. 

Which  was  sad  to  know  concerning  so  good  and  wise  and  gallant 
an  old  gentleman  as  had  been  Mr.  Douw  Fonda, — a  fine,  honour- 
able, educated  and  cultivated  man,  whose  chiefest  pleasure  was 
in  his  books  and  garden,  and  who  never  in  all  his  life  had  uttered 
an  unkind  word. 

This  news,  too,  was  disturbing  in  another  manner;  for  Mr. 
Fonda  had  wished,  as  all  knew,  to  adopt  Penelope  and  make  provi- 
sion for  her.  And  now,  if  his  mind  had  begun  to  cloud  and  his 
memory  betray  him,  no  provision  was  likely  to  be  made  to  support 
this  young  girl  who  was  utterly  alone  in  the  world,  and  entirely 
without  fortune. 

On  an  afternoon  late  in  May  I  was  feeling  less  pain,  and  could 
permit  the  covers  to  rest  on  me,  and  was  impatient  for  a  dish  o' 
porridge.  About  five  o'clock  Penelope  brought  me  a  bowl  of 
chocolate.  When  she  had  seated  herself  near  me,  she  took  her 
sewing  from  her  apron  pocket,  and  stitched  away  busily  whilst 
*L  drank  my  sweet,  hot  brew,  and  watched  her  over  the  blue 
bowl's  edge. 


,258  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

"Are  you  better  this  afternoon,  sir?"  she  inquired  presently, 
not  lifting  her  eyes. 

I  told  her,  fretfully,  that  I  was  but  a  lame  dog  and  fit  only 
to  be  knocked  on  the  head  by  some  obliging  Tory.  "I'm  sick  o' 
life,"  said  I,  "where  no  one  heeds  me,  and  I  am  left  alone  all 
day  without  food  or  companionship,  to  play  at  twiddle-thumb." 

At  that  she  looked  at  me  in  sweet  concern,  but,  seeing  me  wear 
a  wry  grin,  smiled  too. 

"Poor  lad,"  said  she,  "it  is  nearly  a  month  you  lie  there  so 
patiently." 

"Not  patiently;  no!  And  if  I  knew  more  oaths  than  I  think 
up  all  day  long  it  might  ease  me  to  endure  more  meekly  this 
accursed  sickness.  .  .  .  What  is  it  you  sew?" 

"Wrist-bands." 

"Whose?" 

As  she  offered  no  reply  I  supposed  that  she  was  making  a  pair 
o'  bands  for  Nick. 

"Do  you  hear  further  from  Albany?"  I  inquired. 

"No,  sir." 

"Then  it  is  sure  that  Mr.  Fonda  has  become  childish  and  his 
memory  is  gone,"  said  I,  "because  if  he  comprehended  your 
present  situation  and  your  necessity  he  would  surely  have  sent 
for  you  long  since." 

"He  always  was  kind,"  she  said  simply. 

I  lay  on  my  pillows,  sipping  chocolate  and  watching  her  fingers 
so  deft  with  thread  and  needle.  After  a  long  silence  I  asked  her 
rather  bluntly  why  she  had  not  long  ago  consented  to  the  neces- 
sary legal  steps  offered  her  by  Mr.  Fonda,  which  would  have 
secured  her  always  against  want. 

As  she  made  me  no  answer,  I  looked  hard  at  her  over  my  bowl, 
and  saw  her  eyes  very  faintly  glimmering  with  tears. 

"The  news  of  Mr.  Fonda's  condition  has  greatly  saddened  you," 
said  I. 

"Yes.    He  was  kind  to  me." 

"Why,  then,  did  you  evade  his  expressed  wishes?"  I  repeated. 
"He  must  surely  have  loved  you  like  a  father  to  offer  you  adop- 
tion." 

"I  could  not  accept,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  sewing  rapidly 
the  while. 

"Why  not?" 

"I  scarcely  know.  It  was  because  of  pride,  perhaps.  ...  I 
was  his  servant.  He  paid  me  well.  I  could  not  permit  him  to 
overpay  my  poor  services.  .  .  .  And  he  has  other  children,  and 


BURKE 'S  TAVERN  259 

grandchildren,  with  whose  proper  claims  I  would  not  permit 
myself — or  him — to  interfere.  No,  it  was  unthinkable — however 
kindly  meant " 

"That,"  said  I  impatiently,  "smacks  of  a  too  Scotch  and  stub- 
born conscience,  does  it  not,  Penelope?" 

"Stubborn  Scotch  pride,  I  fear.  For  it  is  not  in  my  Scottish 
nature  to  accept  benefits  for  which  I  never  can  hope  to  render 
service  in  return." 

"Imaginary  obligation!"  said  I  scornfully,  yet  admiring  the  in- 
dependence which,  naked  and  defenceless,  prefers  to  spin  its  own 
raiment  rather  than  accept  the  divided  cloak  of  charity. 

And  it  was  plain  to  me  that  this  girl  was  no  beggar,  no  passive 
accepter  of  bounties  unearned  from  anybody.  And  now  I  was 
secretly  chagrined  and  ashamed  that  I  had  so  postured  before  her 
as  My  Lord  Bountiful,  and  had  offered  her  the  Summer  House 
who  had  refused  a  modest  fortune  from  a  good  old  man  who  loved 
her  and  who  had  some  excuse  and  reason  to  so  deal  by  one  to  whom 
his  bodily  comfort  had  long  been  beholden. 

"Few,"  said  I,  "would  have  put  aside  so  agreeable  an  opportunity 
for  ease  and  comfort  in  life.  I  fear  you  were  foolish,  Penelope." 

She  smiled  at  me:  "There  is  a  family  saying,  'A  Grant  grants 
but  never  accepts.'  ...  I  have  youth,  health,  two  arms,  two 
legs,  and  a  pair  of  steady  eyes.  If  these  can  not  keep  me  alive 
through  the  world's  journey,  then  I  ought  to  perish  and  make 
room  for  another." 

"What  do  you  meditate  to  keep  you?"  I  asked  uneasily. 

"For  the  present,"  said  she,  still  smiling,  "what  I  am  doing 
is  well  enough  to  keep  me  in  food  and  clothes  and  lodging." 

At  first  I  did  not  understand  her,  then  an  odd  suspicion  seized 
me;  for  I  remembered  during  the  last  two  weeks,  when  I  lay 
sick,  hearing  strange  voices  in  her  antechamber,  and  strange  people 
coming  and  going  in  the  passageway. 

Seeing  me  perplexed  and  frowning,  she  laughed  and  took  the 
empty  bowl  from  my  hands,  and  set  it  aside.  Then  she  smoothed 
my  pillow. 

"I  am  employed  by  the  garrison,"  said  she,  "to  work  for  them 
with  needle  and  shears.  I  do  their  mending;  I  darn,  stitch,  sew, 
and  alter.  I  patch  shirts  and  under-garments ;  I  also  make 
shirts,  and  devise  officers'  neck-cloths,  stocks,  and  wrist-bands  at 
request. 

"Also,  I  now  employ  a  half-breed  Oneida  woman  as  tailoress; 
and  she  first  measures  and  then  I  cut  out  patterns  of  coats, 
breeches,  rifle-frocks,  and  watch-coats,  which  she  then  takes  home 


260  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

and  sews,  then  tries  on  her  customers,  and  finally  finishes, — I 
sewing  on  all  galons,  laces,  and  braids.  .  .  .  And  so  you  see 
I  pay  my  way,  Mr.  Drogue,  and  am  in  no  stress  for  the  present 
at  any  rate." 

"Good  heavens!"  said  I  amazed,  "I  never  dreamed  that  you 
were  so  employed!" 

"But  I  am  obliged  to  eat,  John  Drogue!" 

"I  have  sufficient  for  both,"  I  muttered.  "I  thought  it  was 
understood " 

"That  I  should  live  on  your  bounty,  my  lord?" 

"Will  you  ever  have  done  with  lording  me?"  I  said  angrily. 
"I  think  you  do  it  to  plague  me." 

"I  ask  forgiveness,"  she  murmured,  still  smiling.  "Also,  I 
crave  pardon  for  refusing  to  live  on  your  kind  bounty." 

"I  do  not  mean  it  that  way!"  said  I  sharply.  "Besides,  you 
kept  Summer  House  for  us,  and  did  all  things  indoors  and  most 
things  outdoor;  and  had  no  pay  for  the  labour " 

"I  had  food  and  a  bed.  And  your  protection.  .  .  .  And  most 
excellent  company,"  she  added,  smiling  saucily  upon  me.  "You 
owe  me  nothing,  John  Drogue.  Nor  do  I  mean  to  owe  you, — 
or  any  man, — more  than  that  proper  debt  of  kindness  which 
kindness  to  me  begets." 

I  lay  back  on  my  pillows,  not  knowing  whether  to  laugh  or 
scowl.  That  Penelope  had  become  a  tailoress  and  sempstress  to 
the  garrison  did  not  pleasure  me  at  all;  and  it  was  as  though  I 
had  lost  some  advantage  or  influence  over  this  girl,  whose  present 
situation  and  whose  future  did  now  considerably  begin  to  concern 
me. 

Yet,  what  was  I  to  say  against  this  business,  or  what  offer 
make  her  that  her  modesty  and  pride  could  consider  ? 

It  was  perfectly  clear  to  me  that  she  never  had  intended  to  be 
obliged  to  me  for  anything,  and  never  would  be.  And  now  her 
saucy  smile  and  gentle  mockery  confirmed  this  conclusion  and  put 
me  out  of  countenance. 

I  cast  a  troubled  glance  at  her  from  my  pillow,  where  she  sat 
by  my  bed  sewing  on  a  pair  of  wristbands  for  some  popinjay 
of  the  garrison — God  knew  who  he  might  be! — and,  as  I  regarded 
her,  further  and  further  she  seemed  to  be  slipping  out  of  my 
influence  and  out  of  the  care  which,  mentally  at  least,  I  had  felt 
it  my  duty  to  give  to  her. 

She  troubled  me.  She  troubled  me  deeply.  Her  independence, 
her  sufficiency,  her  beauty,  her  sly  and  pretty  mockery  of  me, 
all  conspired  to  give  me  a  new  concern  for  her,  and  I  had  not 


BURKE 'S  TAVERN  261 

experienced  the  like  since  Steve  Watts  kissed  her  by  the  lilacs. 

I  had  seen  her  in  many  phases,  but  never  before  in  this  phase, 

and  I  knew  not  what  face  to  put  on  such  a  disturbing  situation. 

For  a  while  I  lay  there  frowning  and  sulky,  and  spoke  not.  She 
tranquilly  finished  her  wristbands,  went  to  her  chamber,  returned 
with  a  dozen  stocks,  all  cut  out  and  basted,  and  picked  up  one  to 
fit  a  plain  military  frill  to  it. 

From  my  window,  near  where  my  head  rested,  I  saw  a  gold  sun- 
set between  the  maple  trees  and  the  roofs  across  the  street.  Birds 
sang  their  evening  carols, — robins  on  every  fence  post,  orioles 
in  the  elms,  and  far  away  a  wood-thrush  filled  the  quiet  with  his 
liquid  ecstasies. 

And  suddenly  it  seemed  to  me  horrible  and  monstrous  that  this 
heavenly  tranquillity  should  be  shattered  by  the  red  blast  of  war ! — 
that  men  could  actually  be  planning  to  devastate  this  quiet 
land  where  already  the  new  harvest  promised,  tender  and  green; 
where  cattle  grazed  in  blossoming  meadows;  where  swallows 
twittered  and  fowls  clucked;  where  smoke  drifted  from  chimneys 
and  the  homely  sights  and  sounds  of  a  peaceful  town  sweetened 
the  evening  silence. 

Then  the  thought  of  my  own  helplessness  went  through  me 
like  a  spear,  and  I  groaned, — not  meaning  to, — and  turned  over 
on  my  pillow.  .  .  .  And  presently  felt  her  hand  lightly  on  my 
shoulder. 

"Is  it  pain?"  she  asked  softly. 

"No,  only  the  weariness  of  life,"  I  muttered. 

She  was  silent,  but  presently  her  hand  smoothed  back  my  hair, 
and  passed  in  a  sort  of  gentle  rhythm  across  my  forehead  and 
my  hair. 

"If  I  lie  here  long  enough,"  said  I  bitterly,  "I  may  have  to  beg 
a  crust  of  you.  So  get  you  to  your  sewing  and  see  that  you  earn 
enough  against  a  beggared  cripple's  need." 

"You  mock  me,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 

"Why,  no,"  said  I.  "If  I  am  to  remain  crippled  my  funds 
will  dwindle  and  go,  and  one  day  I  shall  sit  in  the  sun  like  any 
poor  old  soldier,  with  palm  lifted  for  alms " 

"I  beg — I  beg  you "  she  stammered;  and  her  hand  closed 

on  my  lips  as  though  to  stifle  the  perverse  humour. 

"Would  you  offer  me  charity  if  I  remain  crippled?"  I  managed 
«to  say. 

"Hush.    You  sadden  me." 

"Would  you  aid  me?"  I  insisted. 


262  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

She  drew  a  long,  deep  breath  but  made  no  answer. 

"Tell  me,"  I  repeated,  taking  her  by  the  hand,  "would  you 
aid  me,  Penelope  Grant?" 

"Why  do  you  ask?"  she  protested.    "You  know  I  would." 

"And  yet,"  said  I,  "although  I  am  in  funds,  you  refuse  aid 
and  choose  rather  to  play  the  tailoress!  Is  that  fair?" 

"But — I  am  nothing  to  you " 

"Are  you  not?  And  am  I  then  more  to  you  than  are  you  to 
me,  that  you  would  aid  me  in  necessity?" 

She  drew  her  hand  from  mine  and  went  back  to  her  chair. 

"That  is  my  fate,"  said  she,  smiling  at  me.  "I  was  born  to 
give,  not  to  receive.  I  can  not  take;  I  can  not  refuse  to  give." 

"Yes,"  said  I,  "you  even  gave  me  your  lips  once." 

She  blushed  vividly,  her  eyes  hard  on  her  sewing. 

"I  shall  not  do  the  like  again,"  said  she,  all  rosy  to  the  roots 
of  her  gold  hair. 

"And  why,  pray?" 

"Because  I  know  better  now." 

After  a  silence  I  turned  me  on  my  pillow  and  sighed  heavily. 

"John?"  she  inquired  in  gentle  anxiety,  "are  you  in  great 
pain?" 

I  groaned. 

She  came  to  me  again  and  laid  her  cool,  soft  hand  on  my 
head;  and  I  caught  it  in  both  of  mine  and  drew  her  down  to  me. 

"I  am  a  cripple  and  a  beggar  for  your  kindness,  Penelope," 
I  said.  "I  ask  alms  of  you.  Will  you  kiss  me  ?" 

"Oh,"  she  exclaimed,  "you  have  deceived  me!  Let  me  go! 
Loose  me  instantly!" 

"Will  you  kiss  me  out  of  that  charity  which  you  say  you 
practice  ?" 

"That  is  not  charity! " 

"What  is  begged  for  is  charity.  And  you  say  you  are  made 
to  give." 

"But  you  taught  me  otherwise!  And  now  you  undo  your  own 
schooling ! " 

"But  I  owe  it  you — this  kiss!" 

"How  do  you  owe  it  me?" 

"You  kissed  me  in  the  snow,  and  left  me  in  your  debt." 

"Oh,  goodness !  That  frolic !  Have  you  not  long  ago  forgotten 
our  winter  madness " 

"Like  you,"  said  I,  "I  must  pay  my  just  debts  and  owe  no- 
body." And  I  drew  her  nearer,  all  flushed  with  protest,  firm  to 
escape,  yet  gentle  in  her  supple,  pretty  way  lest  she  hurt  me. 


BURKE 'S  TAVERN  263 

I  laughed,  and  saw  my  gaiety  reflected  in  her  eyes  an  instant. 

Then,  of  a  sudden,  she  put  one  arm  around  my  neck  and  rested 
her  lips  on  mine.  And  so  I  kissed  her,  and  she  suffered  it,  resting 
so  against  me  with  lowered  eyes. 

The  flower-sweetness  of  her  mouth  bewildered  me,  and  I  was 
confused  by  it  and  by  the  stifled  tumult  of  my  heart,  so  that  I 
scarce  had  sense  enough  to  detain  her  when  she  drew  away. 

She  sat  at  my  side,  the  faint  smile  still  stamped  on  her  lips, 
but  her  brown  eyes  seemed  a  little  frightened,  and  her  breast 
rose  and  fell  like  a  scared  bird's  under  the  snowy  kerchief. 

"Well — and  well,"  says  she  in  her  pretty,  breathless  way — "I 
am  overpaid,  I  think,  and  you  are  now  acquitted  of  your  debt. 
And  so — and  so  our  folly  ends  .  .  .  and  now  is  finally  ended." 

She  took  her  sewing.  A  golden  light  was  in  the  room;  and 
she  seemed  to  me  the  loveliest  thing  I  had  ever  looked  upon.  I 
realized  it.  I  knew  she  was  loveliest  of  all.  And  the  swift 
knowledge  seemed  to  choke  me. 

After  a  little  while  she  stole  a  look  at  me,  met  my  eyes,  laughed 
guiltily. 

<fYou!"  said  she,  "a  schoolmaster!  You  teach  me  one  thing 
and  would  have  me  practice  another.  What  confidence  can  I 
entertain  for  such  wisdom  as  is  yours,  John  Drogue?" 

"Rules,"  said  I,  "are  made  to  be  proven  by  their  more  interest- 
ing exceptions.  However,  in  future  you  are  to  endure  no  kiss 
and  no  caress — unless  from  me." 

"Oh.     Is  that  the  new  lesson  I  am  to  learn  and  understand?" 

"That  is  the  lesson.    Will  you  remember  it  when  I  am  gone?" 

"Gone?" 

"Yes.  When  I  am  gone  away  on  duty.  Will  you  remember, 
Penelope?" 

"I  am  like  to,"  she  said  under  her  breath,  and  sewing  rapidly. 

She  stitched  on  in  silence  for  a  while ;  but  now  the  light  was  dim- 
ming and  she  moved  nearer  the  window,  which  was  close  by  my 
bed  head. 

After  a  while  her  hands  dropped  in  her  lap;  she  looked  out 
into  the  twilight.  I  took  her  tired  little  hand  in  mine,  but  she 
did  not  turn  her  head. 

"I  have,"  said  I,  "two  thousand  pounds  Stirling  at  my  solicitor's 
in  Albany.  I  wish  you  to  have  it  if  any  accident  happens  to 
me.  .  .  .  And  my  glebe  in  Fonda's  Bush.  ...  I  shall  so  write 
it  in  my  will." 

She  shook  her  head  slightly,  still  gazing  from  the  window. 

"Will  you  accept?"  I  asked. 


264  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

"What  good  would  it  do  me?  If  I  accept  it  I  should  only 
divide  it  among  the  needy — in  memory  of — of  my  dear  boy  friend 
— Jack  Drogue " 

She  rose  hastily  and  walked  to  the  door,  then  very  slowly 
retraced  her  steps  to  my  bedside. 

"You  are  so  kind  to  me,"  she  murmured,  touching  my  forehead. 
<fYou  are  so  different  to  other  men, — so  truly  gallant  in  your 
boy's  soul.  There  is  no  evil  in  you, — no  ruthlessness.  Oh,  I 
know — I  know — more  than  I  seem  to  know — of  men.  .  .  .  And 
their  importunities.  .  .  .  And  of  their  wilful  selfishness." 

I  sat  up  straight.  "Has  any  man  made  you  unhappy?"  I  de- 
manded in  angry  surprise. 

She  seated  herself  and  looked  at  me  gravely. 
*  "Do  you  know,"  she  said,  "men  have  courted  me  always — even 
when  I  was  scarce  more  than  a  child?  And  mine  is  a  friendly 
heart,  Mr.  Drogue.  I  have  a  half  shy  desire  to  please.  I  am 
loath  to  inflict  pain.  But  always  my  kindness  seems  like  to  cost 
me  more  than  I  choose  to  pay." 

"Pay  to  whom?" 

"To  any  man.  .  .  .  For  example,  I  would  not  elope  with  Stephen 
Watts  when  he  begged  me  at  Caughnawaga.  And  Walter  Butler 
addressed  me  also — in  secret — being  a  friend  of  the  Fondas  and 
so  free  of  the  house.  .  .  .  And  was  ever  stealthily  importuning 
me  to  a  stolen  rendezvous  which  I  had  sense  enough  to  refuse, 
knowing  him  to  be  both  married  and  a  rake,  and  cruel  to  women. 

"Oh,  I  tell  you  that  they  all  courted  me, — not  kindly, — for 
ever  there  seemed  to  me  in  their  ardent  gaze  and  discreet  whisper- 
ings something  vaguely  sinister.  Not  that  it  frightened  me,  nor 
did  I  take  alarm,  being  too  ignorant " 

She  folded  her  hands  and  looked  down  at  them. 

"I  like  men.  ...  I  cared  most  for  Stephen  Watts.  .  .  .  Then 
one  day  I  had  a  great  fright.  .  .  .  Shall  I  tell  it?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  then,  Sir  John's  gallantries  neither  pleased  nor  flattered 
me  from  the  first.  But  he  was  very  cautious  what  he  said  and 
did  in  Douw  Fonda's  house,  and  never  spoke  to  me  save  coldly 
when  others  were  present,  or  when  he  was  alone  with  us  and  Mr. 
Fonda  was  awake  and  not  dozing  in  his  great  chair.  .  .  .  Well, 
there  came  a  day  when  Mr.  Fonda  went  to  the  house  of  Captain 
Fonda,  and  I  was  alone  in  the  house.  .  .  . 

"And  Sir  John  came.  .  .  .  Shall  I  tell  it?" 

"Tell  it,  Penelope." 

"I've  had  it  long  in  my  mind.    I  wished  to  ask  you  if  it  lea- 


BURKE 'S  TAVERN  265 

sened  me  in  your  esteem.  .  .  .  For  Sir  John  was  drunk,  and, 
finding  me  alone,  he  conducted  roughly — and  followed  me  and 
locked  us  in  my  chamber.  ...  I  was  horribly  afraid.  ...  I  had 
never  struck  any  living  being  before.  But  I  beat  his  red  face 
with  my  hands  until  he  became  confused  and  stupid — and  there 
was  blood  on  him  and  on  me.  .  .  .  And  my  kerchief  was  torn  off 
and  my  hair  all  tangled.  ...  I  beat  him  till  he  dropped  my 
door  key,  and  so  unlocked  my  door  and  returned  again  to  him, 
silent  and  flaming,  and  drove  him  with  blows  out  o'  my  chamber 
and  out  of  the  house — all  over  blood  as  he  was,  and  stupid  and 
drunk.  .  .  .  His  negro  man  got  him  on  his  horse  and  rode  off, 
holding  him  on. 

"And  none  knew — none  know,  save  Sir  John  and  you  and 
I." 

After  a  silence  I  said  in  a  controlled  voice:  'If  Sir  John 
comes  this  way  I  shall  hope  not  to  miss  him.  ...  I  shall  pray 
God  not  to  miss  this — gentleman." 

"Do  you  think  meanly  of  me  that  he  used  me  so  ?" 

I  did  not  answer. 

"I  have  told  you  all,"  she  said  timidly.  "I  am  still  honest.  If 
I  were  not  I  would  not  have  let  you  touch  my  lips." 

"Why  not?" 

'Tor  both  our  sakes.  ...  I  would  not  do  you  any  evil." 

I  said  impatiently:  "No  need  to  tell  me  you  never  had  a  lover. 
I  never  believed  it  of  you  from  the  day  I  saw  you  first.  And, 
God  willing,  I  mean  to  stop  a  mouth  or  two  in  Tryon,  war  or 
no  war " 

"John  Drogue!"  she  exclaimed  in  consternation — "you  shall 
seek  no  quarrel  on  my  account!  Swear  to  me!" 

But  I  made  no  reply.  Whatever  the  quarrel,  I  knew  now  it 
was  to  be  on  my  own  account;  for  whether  or  no  I  was  falling  in 
love  with  this  girl,  Penelope  Grant,  I  realized  at  all  events  that 
I  would  suffer  no  other  man  to  interfere,  however  he  conducted, 
and  should  hold  any  man  to  stern  account  who  would  make 
of  this  girl  a  toy  and  plaything. 

And  so,  all  hotly  resolved  on  that  point;  sore,  also,  at  the 
knowledge  of  Sir  John's  baseness  which  seemed  to  touch  my 
proper  honour;  and  swifter,  too,  with  tenderness  in  my  heart  to 
reassure  her,  I  did  exactly  that  for  which  I  was  now  prepared  to 
cut  the  throats  of  various  other  gentlemen — I  drew  her  into  my 
arms  and  held  her  close,  body  and  lips  imprisoned. 

She  sought  her  chair  and  sat  there  silent  and  subdued  until 
a  maid-servant  brought  lights  and  my  supper. 


266  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

In  the  candle  light  she  ventured  to  look  at  me  and  laugh. 

"Such  schooling!"  says  she.  "I  never  knew  before  that  there 
was  such  a  personage  as  a  sweetheart  pro  tern !  But  you  seem 
to  know  the  role  by  heart,  Mr.  Drogue.  And  so,  no  doubt,  feel  war- 
ranted to  instruct  others.  But  this  is  the  end  of  it,  my  friend. 
For  one  day  you  shall  have  to  confess  you  to  your  wife!  And  I 
think  my  future  Lady  Northesk  is  like  to  have  a  pretty  temper 
and  will  give  you  a  mauvais  quart  d'heur  when  she  hears  of  this 
May  day's  folly  in  a  Johnstown  public  house  I" 


CHAPTEE  XXVI 

ORDERS 

IN  June  I  was  out  o'  bed  and  managed  to  set  foot  on  ground 
for  the  first  time  since  early  spring.  By  the  end  of  the  month 
I  had  my  strength  in  a  measure  and  was  able  to  hobble  about  town. 
Pernicious  rheumatism  is  no  light  matter,  for  with  the  agony, — 
and  weakness  afterward, — a  dull  despair  settles  upon  the  victim; 
and  it  was  mind,  not  body,  that  caused  me  the  deeper  distress, 
I  think. 

Life  seemed  useless;  effort  hopeless.  Dark  apprehensions  ob- 
sessed me;  I  despaired  of  my  country,  of  my  people,  of  myself. 
And  this  all  was  part  of  my  malady,  but  I  did  not  know  it. 

All  through  June  and  July  an  oppressive  summer  heat  brooded 
over  Tryon.  Save  for  thunder  storms  of  unusual  violence,  the 
heat  remained  unbroken  day  and  night.  In  the  hot  and  blinding 
blue  of  heaven,  a  fierce  sun  blazed;  at  night  the  very  moon  looked 
sickly  with  the  heat. 

Never  had  I  heard  so  many  various  voices  of  the  night,  nor  so 
noisy  a  tumult  after  dark,  where  the  hylas  trilled  an  almost  deaf- 
ening chorus  and  the  big  frogs'  stringy  croaking  never  ceased,  and 
a  myriad  confusion  of  insects  chirred  and  creaked  and  hummed 
in  the  suffocating  dark. 

At  dawn  the  birds'  outburst  was  like  the  loud  outrush  of  a  tor- 
rent filling  the  waking  world;  at  twilight  scores  of  unseen  whip- 
poorwills  put  on  their  shoes  *  and  shouted  in  whistling  whisper 
voices  to  one  another  across  the  wastes  of  night  like  the  False 
Faces  f  gathering  at  a  secret  tryst. 

If  the  whole  Northland  languished,  drooping  and  drowsy  in  the 
heat,  the  very  air,  too,  seemed  heavy  with  the  foreboding  gloom 
of  dreadful  rumours. 

Every  day  came  ominous  tidings  from  North,  from  West,  from 
South  of  great  forces  uniting  to  march  hither  and  crush  us.  And 
the  terrible  imminence  of  catastrophe,  far  from  arousing  and 

*  Indian  lore.     The  yellow  moccasin  flower  is  the  whippoorwill's  shoe, 
t  A  secret  society  common  to  all  nations  of  the  Iroquois  Confederacy. 

267 


268  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

nerving  us  for  the  desperate  event,  seemed  rather  to  confuse 
and  daze  our  people,  and  finally  to  stupefy  all,  as  though  the 
horror  of  the  immense  and  hellish  menace  were  beyond  human 
comprehension. 

Men  laboured  on  the  meagre  defences  of  the  county  as  though 
weighted  by  a  nightmare — as  though  drowsing  awake  and  not 
believing  in  their  ghostly  dream. 

And  all  preparation  went  slow — fearfully  slow — and  it  was 
like  dragging  a  mass  of  chained  men,  whose  minds  had  been 
drugged,  to  drive  the  militia  to  the  drill  ground  or  force  the 
labourers  to  the  unfinished  parapets  of  our  few  and  scattered 
forts. 

Men  still  talked  of  the  Sacandaga  Block  House  as  though 
there  were  such  a  refuge;  but  there  was  none  unless  they  meant 
the  ruins  at  Fish  House  or  the  unburned  sheepfold  at  Summer 
House  Point,  or  the  Mayfield  defenses. 

There  remained  only  one  fort  of  consequence  south  of  the 
Lakes — Fort  Stanwix,  now  called  Schuyler,  and  that  was  far  from 
finished,  far  from  properly  armed,  garrisoned,  and  provisioned. 

Whatever  else  of  defense  Tryon  County  possessed  were  merest 
makeshifts — stone  farmhouses  fortified  by  ditch,  stockade,  and 
bastions;  blockhouses  of  wood;  nothing  more. 

Fragments  of  our  two  regular  regiments  were  ever  shifting 
garrison — a  company  here,  a  battalion  there.  A  few  rangers  kept 
the  field ;  a  regiment  of  Herkimer's  militia,  from  time  to  time,  took 
its  turn  at  duty;  a  scout  or  two  of  irregulars  and  Oneida  Indiana 
haunted  the  trail  toward  Buck  Island — which  some  call  Deer  Is- 
land, and  others  speak  of  as  Carleton  Island,  and  others  still  name 
it  Ile-aux-Chevreuil,  which  is  a  mistake. 

But  any  name  for  the  damned  spot  was  good  enough  for  me, 
who  had  been  there  in  years  past,  and  knew  how  strong  it  could 
be  made  to  defy  us  and  to  send  out  armed  hordes  to  harass  U3 
on  the  Mohawk. 

And  at  that  instant,  under  Colonel  Barry  St.  Leger,  the  West- 
ern flying  force  of  the  enemy  was  being  marshalled  at  Buck 
Island. 

Our  scouts  brought  an  account  of  the  forces  already  there — 
detachments  of  the  8th  British  regulars,  the  34th  regulars,  the 
regiment  of  Sir  John,  called  the  Eoyal  New  Yorkers  by  some, 
by  others  the  Greens — (though  our  scouts  told  us  that  their  new 
uniforms  were  to  be  scarlet) — the  Corps  of  Chasseurs,  a  regiment 
of  green-coats  known  as  Butler's  Rangers,  a  detachment  of  Royal 
Artillery,  another  of  Highlanders,  and,  most  sinister  of  all,  Brant's 


ORDERS  269 

Iroquoia  under  Thayendanegea  himself  and  a  number  of  young 
officers  of  the  Indian  Department,  with  Colonel  Glaus  to  advise 
them. 

This  was  the  flying  force  that  threatened  us  from  the  West, 
directed  by  Burgoyne. 

From  the  South  we  were  menaced  by  the  splendid  and  powerful 
British  army  which  held  New  ^York  City,  Long  Island,  and  the 
lower  Hudson,  and  stood  ready  and  equipped  to  march  on  a 
straight  road  right  into  Albany,  cleaning  up  the  Hudson,  shore  and 
stream,  on  their  way  hither. 

But  our  most  terrible  danger  threatened  us  from  the  North, 
where  General  Burgoyne,  with  a  superb  army  and  a  half  thousand 
Iroquois  savages,  had  been  smashing  his  way  toward  us  through 
the  forests,  seizing  the  lakes  and  the  vessels  and  forts  defending 
them,  outmanoeuvring  our  General  St.  Clair;  driving  him  from 
our  fortress  of  Ticonderoga  with  loss  of  all  stores  and  baggage; 
driving  Francis  out  of  Skenesborough  and  Fort  Anne,  and  de- 
stroying both  posts;  chasing  St.  Clair  out  of  Castleton  and 
Hubbardton,  destroying  two-thirds  of  Warner's  army;  driving 
Schuyler's  undisciplined  militia  from  Fort  Edward,  toward 
Saratoga. 

Every  day  brought  rumours  or  positive  news  of  disasters  in  our 
immediate  neighbourhood.  We  knew  that  St.  Leger,  Sir  John, 
Walter  Butler,  and  Brant  had  left  Buck  Island  and  that  Burgoyne 
was  directing  the  campaign  planned  for  the  most  hated  army 
that  ever  invaded  the  Northland.  And  we  learned  the  horrid 
details  of  these  movements  from  Thomas  Spencer,  the  Oneida 
who  had  just  come  in  from  that  region,  and  whose  certain  ac- 
count of  how  matters  were  swiftly  coming  to  a  crisis  at  last 
seemed  to  galvanize  our  people  into  action. 

I  was  now,  in  August,  well  enough  to  take  the  field  with  a  scout, 
and  I  applied  for  active  duty  and  was  promised  it;  but  no  orders 
came,  and  I  haunted  the  Johnstown  Fort  impatiently,  certain 
that  every  man  who  rode  express  and  who  went  galloping  through 
the  town  must  bring  my  marching  orders. 

Precious  days  succeeded  one  another;  I  fretted,  fumed,  sickened 
with  anxiety,  deemed  myself  forgotten  or  perhaps  disdained. 

Then  I  had  a  shock  when  General  Herkimer,  ignoring  me, 
sent  for  my  Saguenay,  but  for  what  purpose  I  knew  not,  only  that 
old  Klock's  loud-voiced  son-in-law,  Colonel  Cox,  desired  a  Montag- 
nais  tracker. 

The  Yellow  Leaf  came  to  me  with  the  courier,  one  Barent 
Westerfelt,  who  had  brought  presents  from  Colonel  Cox;  and  I 


270  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

had  no  discretion  in  the  matter,  nor  would  have  exercised  any  if 
I  had. 

"Brother,"  said  I,  taking  him  by  both  hands,  "go  freely  with 
this  messenger  from  General  Herkimer;  because  if  you  were 
not  sorely  needed  our  brother  Corlear  had  not  ordered  an  express 
to  find  and  fetch  you." 

He  replied  that  he  made  nothing  of  the  presents  sent  him, 
but  desired  to  remain  with  me.  I  patiently  pointed  out  to  him 
that  I  was  merely  a  subaltern  in  the  State  Rangers  and  unat- 
tached, and  that  I  must  await  my  turn  of  duty  like  a  good  soldier, 
nor  feel  aggrieved  if  fortune  called  others  first. 

Still  he  seemed  reluctant,  ,and  would  not  go,  and  scowled  at 
the  express  rider  and  his  sack  of  gew-gaws. 

"Brother,"  said  I,  "would  you  shame  me  who,  as  you  say,  found 
you  a  wild  beast  and  have  taught  you  that  you  are  a  real  man?" 

"I  am  a  man  and  a  warrior,"  he  said  quickly. 

"Real  men  and  warriors  are  known  by  their  actions,  my  younger 
brother.  When  there  is  war  they  shine  their  hatchets.  When  the 
call  comes,  they  bound  into  the  war-trail.  Brother,  the  call  has 
come !  Hiero !" 

The  Montagnais  straightened  his  body  and  threw  back  his 
narrow,  dangerous  head. 

"Haih!"  he  said.  "I  hear  my  brother's  voice  coming  to  me 
through  the  forests!  Very  far  away  beyond  the  mountains  I 
hear  the  panther-cry  of  the  Mengwe!  My  axe  is  bright!  I  am 
in  my  paint.  Koue!  I  go!" 

He  left  within  the  hour;  and  I  had  become  attached  to  the 
wild  rover  of  the  Saguenay,  and  missed  him  the  more,  perhaps, 
because  of  my  own  sore  heart  which  beat  so  impotently  within 
my  idle  body. 

That  Herkimer  had  taken  him  disconcerted  and  discouraged 
me;  but  there  was  a  more  bitter  blow  in  store  for  a  young  soldier 
of  no  experience  in  discipline  or  in  the  slow  habit  of  military 
procedure;  for,  judge  of  my  wrath  when  one  rainy  day  in  August 
comes  Nick  Stoner  to  me  in  a  new  uniform  of  the  line,  saying  that 
Colonel  Livingston's  regiment  lacked  musicians,  and  he  had 
thought  it  best  to  transfer  and  to  'list  and  not  let  opportunity 
go  a-glimmering. 

"My  God,  Jack,"  says  he,  "you  can  not  blame  me  very  well, 
for  my  father  is  drafted  to  the  same  regiment,  and  my  brother 
John  is  a  drummer  in  it.  It  is  a  marching  regiment  and  certain 
to  fight,  for  there  be  three  Livingstons  commanding  of  it,  and  who 


ORDERS  271 

knows  what  old  Herkimer  can  do  with  his  militia,  or  what  the 
militia  themselves  can  do?" 

"You  are  perfectly  right,  Nick,"  said  I  in  a  mortified  voice. 
"I  am  not  envious;  no!  only  it  wounds  me  to  feel  I  am  so  utterly 
forgotten,  and  my  application  for  transfer  unnoticed." 

Nick  took  leave  of  us  that  night,  sobered  not  at  all  by  the 
imminence  of  battle,  for  he  danced  around  my  chamber  in  Burke's 
Inn,  a-playing  upon  his  fife  and  capering  so  that  Penelope  was 
like  to  suffocate  with  laughter,  though  inclined  to  seriousness. 

We  supped  all  together  in  my  chamber  as  we  had  so  often 
gathered  at  Summer  House,  but  if  I  were  inclined  to  gloomy 
brooding,  and  if  Penelope  seeme&  concerned  at  parting  with  a 
comrade,  Nick  permitted  no  sad  reflexions  to  disturb  us  whom 
he  was  leaving  behind. 

He  made  us  drink  a  very  devilish  flip-cup,  which  he  had  de- 
vised in  the  tap-room  below  with  Jimmy  Burke's  aid,  and  which 
filled  our  young  noddles  with  a  gaiety  not  natural. 

He  sang  and  offered  toasts,  and  played  on  his  fife  and  capered 
until  we  were  breathless  with  mirth. 

Also,  he  took  from  his  new  knapsack  a  penny  broadside, — 
witty,  but  like  most  broadsides  of  the  kind,  somewhat  broad, — 
which  he  had  for  thrippence  of  a  pedlar,  the  same  being  a  parody 
on  the  Danbury  Broadside;  and  this  he  read  aloud  to  us,  bursting 
with  laughter,  while  standing  upon  his  chair  at  table  to  recite  it: 

THE  EXPEDITION  TO  JOHNSTOWN  * 

(In   search    of   provisions) 

Scene — New  York  City 

(Enter  General  Sir  Wm.   Howe  and  Mrs.  ,  preceded  by 

Fame  in  cap  and  bells,  nourishing  a  bladder.) 

Fame    (speaks) 

"Without  wit,  without  wisdom,  half  stupid,  half  drunk, 
And  rolling  along  arm-in-arm  with  his  Punk, 
Comes  gallant  Sir  William,  the  warrior    (by  proxy) 
To  harangue  his  soldiers    (held  up  by  his  Doxy)  !" 

Sir  Wm.   (speaks) 

"My  boys,  I'm  a-going  to  send  you  to  Tryon, 

To  Johnstown,  where  you'll  get  as  groggy  as  I  am! 

By  a  Tory  from  there  I  have  just  been  informed 

•  A  parallel  to  The  Expedition  to  Danbvry,  printed  in  a  Pennsylvania 
newspaper,  May  14th,  1777. 


272  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

That  there's  nobody  there,  so  the  town  shall  be  stormed  I 

For  if  nobody's  there  and  nobody  near  it, 

My  army  shall  conquer  that  town,  never  fear  it!" 

(Enter  Joe  Gallop-away,  a  refugee  Tory) 

Joe 
"Brave  soldiers,  go  fight  that  we  all  may  get  rich!" 

Regular  Soldiers 

"We'll  fetch  you  a  halter,  you  *  "  *  *   ! 
Get  out!     And  go  live   in   the  woods   upon  nuts, 
Or  we'll  give  you  our  bayonets  plump  in  your  guts! 
Do  you   think  wo  are  fighting  to  feed  such  a  crew 
As  Butler,  Sir  John,  Mr.  Singler  and  you?" 

(Enter  Sir  John  Johnson) 

Sir  John 

"Come  on,  my  brave  boys!     Now!  as  bold  as  a  lion  I 

And  march  at  my  heels  to  the  County  called  Tryon; 

My  lads,  there's  no  danger,  for  this  you  should  know, 

That  I'd  let  it  alone  if  I  thought  it  was  so! 

So  point  all  your  noses  towards  the  Dominion 

And  we'll  all  live  like  lords  is  my  honest  opinion!" 

Scene — Buck   Island   Trail 
(Enter  Fame,  Sir  John,  and  his  Royal  Greens) 

Fame 

"In  cunning  and  canting,  deceit  and  disguise, 

In  breaking  parole  by  inventing  cheap  lies, 

Sir  John  is  a  match  for  the  worst  of  his  species, 

But  in  this  undertaking  he'll  soon  go  to  pieces. 

He'll  fall  to  the  rear,  for  he'd  rather  go  last, 

Crying,  'Forward,  my  boys!     Let  me  see  you  all  past! 

For  his  Majesty's  service    (so  reads   my  commission) 

Requires  I  push  forward  the  whole  expedition!" 

Sir  Jolin 

"I  care  not  a  louse  for  the  United  States, — 

For  General  Schuyler  or  General  Gates! 

March  forward,  my  lads,  and  account  for  each  sinner, 

While  Butler,  St.   Leger,  and   I  go  to  dinner. 

For  plenty's  in  Tryon  of  eating  and  drinking, 

Who'd  stay  in  New  York  to  bo  starving  and   stinkinf  • 


ORDERS  273 

March  over  the  Mohawk!     March  over,  march  over, 
You'll  live  like  a  parcel  of  hoga  in  sweet  clover!" 

Scene — Outside  Fort  Stanwir 

(A  council  of  war.     At  a  distance  the  new  American  flag  flying 
above  the  bastions) 

Sir  John 

"I'm  sorry  I'm  here,  for  I'm  horribly  scared, 

But  how  did  I  know  that  they'd   all  be  prepared? 

The  fate  of  our  forray  looks  darker  and  darker, 

The  state  of  our  larder  grows  starker  and  starker, 

I  fear  that  a  round-shot  or  one  of  their  carkers  * 

May   breech   my   new  breeches   like   poor   Peter   Parker's!  f 

Oh,  say,  if  my  rear  is  uncovered,  what  then! — " 

(Enter  Walter  Butler  in  a  panic) 

Butler 

"Held!     Schuyler    is  coming  with  ten  thousand  men!" 
(A  canon  shot  from  the  Fort) 

Sir  John   (falls  flat) 

"I'm  done!     A   cannon   ball   of  thirty   pound 
Has  hit  me  where  Sir  Peter  got  his  wound. 
I'm  done!     I'm  all  undone!     So  don't  unbutt'n'm; 
But  say  adieu  for  me  to  Clairette  Putnam  !"£ 

(Enter  a  swarm  of  surgeons) 

Bwrgeons 

"Compose  yourself,  good  sir — forget  your  fright; 
We  promise  you  you  are  not  slain  outright. 
The  wound  you  got  is  not  so  mortal  deep 
But  bleeding,  cupping,  patience,  rest,  and  sleep, 
With  blisters,  clysters,  physic,  air  and  diet 
Will  set  you  up  again  if  you'll  be  quiet  1" 

Sir  John 

"So  thick,  so  fast  the  balls  and  bullets  flew, 

Some  hit  me  here,  some  there,  some  thro'  and  thro', 

Beneath  my  legs  a  score  of  bosses  fell, 

Shot  under  me  by  twice  as  many  shell; 

And  though  my  soldiers  falter  and  beseech, 

•  Carkers — carcass — a  shell  fired  from  a  small  piece  of  artillery, 
t  Sir    Peter   Parker's    breeches   were    carried    away   by    a    round    shot   at 
Tort  Moultrie. 

t  Hit)  charming  but  abandoned  mistress. 


274  THE  LITTLE  BED  FOOT 

Forward  I  strode,  defiant  to  the  breech, 
And  there,  as  History  my  valour  teaches, 
I  fell  as  Csesar  fell,  and  lost — my  breeches! 
His  face  lay  in  his  toga,  in  defeat, 
So  let  me  hide  my  face  within  my  seat, 
My  requiem  the  rebel  cannons  roar, 
My   duty   done,   my   bottom   very   sore. 
Tell  Willett  he  may  keep  his  flour  and  pork, 
For  I  am  going  back  to  dear  New  York." 

(Exit  on  a  litter  to  the  Rogue's   March)" 

"If  we  fight  at  Stanwix,"  says  Penelope,  "God  send  the  business 
end  as  gaily  as  your  broadside,  Nick!" 

And  so,  amid  laughter,  our  last  evening  together  came  to  an  end, 
and  it  was  time  to  part. 

Nick  gave  Penelope  a  hearty  smack,  grinned  broadly  at  me, 
seized  my  hands  and  whispered:  "What  did  I  tell  you  of  the 
Scotch  girl  of  Caughnawaga,  who  hath  a  way  with  her  which 
is  the  undoing  of  all  innocent  young  men?" 

"Idiot!"  said  I  fiercely,  "I  am  not  undone  in  such  a  manner!" 
Like  two  bear-cubs  we  clutched  and  wrestled;  then  he  hugged  me, 
laughed,  and  broke  away. 

"Farewell,  comrades,"  he  cried,  snatching  sack  and  musket  from 
the  corner.  "If  I  can  not  fife  the  red-coats  into  hell  to  the  Rogue's 
March,  or  my  brother  John  drum  them  there  to  the  Devil's 
tattoo,  then  my  daddy  shall  persuade  'em  thither  with  musket- 
music!  Three  stout  Stoners  and  three  lanky  Livingstons,  and 
all  in  the  same  regiment!  Hurrah!" 

And  off  and  down  the  tavern  stairs  he  ran,  clattering  and 
clanking,  and  shouting  out  a  fond  good-bye  to  Burke,  who  had 
forgiven  him  the  goat. 

Standing  in  the  candle-light  by  the  window,  where  a  million 
rainwashed  stars  twinkled  in  the  depthless  ocean  of  the  night, 
I  rested  my  brow  against  the  cool,  glazed  pane,  lost  in  most  bitter 
reflexion. 

Penelope  had  gone  to  her  chamber;  behind  me  the  dishevelled 
table  stood,  bearing  the  candles  and  the  debris  of  our  last  supper; 
a  nosegay  of  bright  flowers — Nick's  parting  token — lay  on  the 
floor,  where  they  had  fallen  from  Penelope's  bosom. 

After  a  while  I  left  the  window  and  sat  down,  taking  my  head 
between  my  hands;  and  I  had  been  sitting  so  for  some  time  in. 
ugly,  sullen  mood,  when  a  noise  caused  me  to  look  up. 

Penelope  stood  by  the  door,  her  yellow  hair  about  her  faca 


ORDERS  275 

and  shoulders,  and  still  combing  of  it  while  her  brown  eyes  re- 
garded ine  with  an  odd  intentness. 

"Your  light  still  blazed  from  your  window,"  she  said.  "I  had 
some  misgiving  that  you  sat  here  brooding  all  alone." 

I  felt  my  face  flush,  for  it  had  deeply  humiliated  me  that  she 
should  know  how  I  was  offered  no  employment  while  others  had 
been  called  or  permitted  to  seek  relief  from  inglorious  idleness. 

She  flung  the  bright  banner  of  her  hair  over  her  right  shoulder, 
caressed  the  thick  and  shining  tresses,  and  so  continued  combing, 
etill  watching  me,  her  head  a  little  on  one  side. 

"All  know  you  to  be  faithful,  diligent  and  brave,"  said  she. 
"You  should  not  let  it  chafe  your  pride  because  others  are  called 
to  duty  before  you  are  summoned.  Often  it  chances  that  Merit 
paces  the  ante-chamber  while  Mediocrity  is  granted  audience. 
But  Opportunity  redresses  such  accidents." 

"Opportunity,"  I  repeated  sneeringly,  " — where  is  she? — for  I 
have  not  seen  or  heard  of  that  soft-footed  jade  who,  they  say, 
comes  a-knocking  once  in  a  life-time;  and  thereafter  knocks  at 
our  door  no  more." 

"Oh,  John  Drogue — John  Drogue,"  said  she  in  her  strange 
and  wistful  way,  ''you  shall  hear  the  clear  summons  on  your  door 
very  soon — all  too  soon  for  one  of  us, — for  one  of  us,  John 
Drogue." 

Her  brown  eyes  were  on  me,  unabashed;  by  touch  she  was 
dividing  the  yellow  masses  of  her  hair  into  two  equal  parts. 
And  now  she  slowly  braided  each  to  peg  them  for  the  night 
beneath  her  ruffled  cap. 

When  she  had  braided  and  pegged  her  hair,  she  took  the  night- 
cap from  her  apron  pocket  and  drew  it  over  her  golden  head, 
tying  the  tabs  under  her  chin. 

"It  is  strange,"  she  said  with  her  wistful  smile,  "that,  though 
the  world  is  ending,  we  needs  must  waste  in  sleep  a  portion  of 
what  time  remains  to  us.  .  .  .  And  so  I  am  for  bed,  John 
Drogue.  .  .  .  Lest  that  same  tapping-jade  come  to  your  door 
tonight  and  waken  me,  also,  with  her  loud  knocking." 

"Why  do  you  say  so  ?    Have  you  news  ?" 

"Did  I  not  once  foresee  a  battle  in  the  North?  And  men  in 
strange  uniforms?" 

"Yes,"  said  I,  smiling  away  the  disappointment  of  a  vague 
and  momentary  hope. 

"I  think  that  battle  will  happen  very  soon,"  she  said  gravely. 

"You  said  that  I  should  be  there, — with  that  pale  shadow 
in  its  shroud.  Very  well;  only  that  I  be  given  employment 


276  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

and  live  to  see  at  least  one  battle,  I  care  not  whether  I  meet  my 
weird  in  its  winding-sheet.  Because  any  man  of  spirit,  and  not 
a  mouse,  had  rather  meet  his  end  that  way  than  sink  into  dis- 
solution in  aged  and  toothless  idleness." 

"If  you  were  not  a  very  young  and  untried  soldier/'  said  she, 
"you  would  not  permit  impatience  to  ravage  you  and  sour  you 
as  it  does.  And  for  me,  too,  it  saddens  and  spoils  our  last  few 
days  together." 

"Our  last  few  days?  You  speak  with  a  certainty — an  author- 
ity  " 

"I  know  the  summons  is  coming  very  soon." 

"If  I  could  but  believe  in  your  Scottish  second-sight " 

"Would  you  be  happy?" 

"Happy!  I  should  deem  myself  the  most  fortunate  man  on 
earth! — if  I  could  believe  your  Scottish  prophecy!" 

She  came  nearer,  and  her  eyes  seemed  depthless  dusky  in  her 
pale  face. 

"If  that  is  all  you  require  for  happiness,  John  Drogue,"  said 
she  in  her  low,  still  voice,  "then  you  may  take  your  pleasure  of 
it.  I  tell  you  I  know!  And  we  have  but  few  hours  left  together, 
you  and  I." 

Spite  of  common  sense  and  disbelief  in  superstitions  I  could  not 
remain  entirely  unconcerned  before  such  perfect  sincerity,  though 
that  she  believed  in  her  own  strange  gift  could  scarcely  con- 
vince me. 

"Come,"  said  I  smilingly,  "it  may  be  so.  At  all  events,  you 
cheer  me,  Penelope,  and  your  kindness  heartens  me.  .  .  .  Forgive 
my  sullen  temper; — it  is  hard  for  a  man  to  think  himself  ignored 
and  perhaps  despised.  And  my  ears  ache  with  listening  for  that 
same  gentle  tapping  upon  my  door." 

"I  hear  it  now,"  she  said  under  her  breath. 

"I  hear  nothing." 

"Alas,  no!  Yet,  that  soft-footed  maid  is  knocking  on  your 
door.  ...  If  only  you  had  heart  to  hear." 

"One  does  not  hear  with  one's  heart,"  said  I,  smiling,  and 
stirred  to  plague  her  for  her  mixed  metaphor. 

"I  do,"  said  she,  faintly. 

After  a  little  silence  she  turned  to  go;  and  I  followed,  scarce 
knowing  why;  and  took  her  hand  in  the  doorway. 

"Little  prophetess,"  said  I,  "who  promises  me  what  my  heart 
desires,  will  you  touch  your  lips  to  mine  as  a  pledge  that  your 
prophecy  shall  come  true?" 


ORDERS  277 

She  looked  back  over  her  shoulder,  and  remained  so,  her  cheek 
on  her  right  shoulder. 

"Your  heart  desires  a  battle,  John  Drogue;  your  idle  vanity 
my  lips.  .  .  .  But  you  may  possess  them  if  you  will." 

"I  do  love  you  dearly,  Penelope  Grant." 

She  said  with  a  breathless  little  smile: 

"Would  you  love  me  better  if  my  prophecy  came  true  this  very 
night?" 

But  I  was  troubled  at  that,  and  had  no  mind  to  sound  those 
unventured  deeps  which,  at  such  moments,  I  could  feel  vaguely 
astir  within  me.  Nor  yet  did  I  seriously  consider  what  I  truly 
desired  of  this  slender  maid  within  the  circle  of  my  arms,  nor 
what  was  to  come  of  such  sudden  encounters  with  their  swift 
smile  and  oddly  halting  breath  and  the  heart,  surprised,  rhyming 
rapidly  and  unevenly  in  a  reckless  measure  which  pleasured  less 
than  it  embarrassed. 

She  loosed  her  hands  and  drew  away  from  me,  and  leaned 
against  the  wall,  not  looking  toward  me. 

"I  think,"  she  said  in  a  stifled  voice,  "you  are  to  have  your 
wish  this  night.  .  .  .  Do  you  hear  anything?" 

In  the  intense  stillness,  straining  my  ears,  I  fancied  presently 
that  I  heard  a  distant  sound  in  the  night.  But  if  it  had  been 
so  it  died  out,  and  the  beat  of  my  heart  was  louder.  Then,  of  a 
sudden,  I  seemed  to  hear  it  again,  and  thought  it  was  my  pulses 
startled  by  sudden  hope. 

"What  is  that  sound?"  I  whispered.     "Do  you  hear  it?" 

"Aye." 

"I  hear  it  also.  ...  Is  it  imagination?  Is  there  a  horse  on 
the  highway?  Why,  I  tell  you  there  is!  ...  There  is!  Do  you 
think  he  rides  express?" 

"Out  o'  the  North,  my  lord,"  she  whispered.  And  suddenly 
she  turned,  gave  me  a  blind  look,  stretched  out  one  hand. 

"Why  do  you  think  that  horseman  comes  for  me!"  I  said.  My 
imagination  caught  fire,  flamed,  and  I  stood  shivering  and  crush- 
ing her  fingers  in  my  grasp.  "Why — why — do  you  think  so?" 
I  stammered.  "He's  turned  into  William  Street!  He  gallops  this 
way!  Damnation!  He  heads  toward  the  Hall! — No!  No!  By 
God,  he  is  in  our  street,  galloping — galloping " 

Like  a  pistol  shot  came  a  far  cry  in  the  darkness:  "Express- 
ho !  I  pass !  I  pass !"  The  racket  of  iron-shod  hoofs  echoed  in 
the  street;  doors  and  windows  flew  open;  a  confusion  of  voices 
filled  my  ears;  the  rattling  roar  of  the  hoofs  came  to  a  clashing 
halt. 


278  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

"Jimmy  Burke's  Tavern!"  shouted  a  hoarse  voice. 

"Ye're  there,  me  gay  galloper!"  came  Burke's  bantering  voice. 
"An'  phwat's  afther  ye  that  ye  ride  the  night  like  a  banshee? 
Is  it  Sir  John  that's  chasin'  ye  crazy,  Jock  Gallopaway?" 

"Ah-h,"  retorted  the  express,  "fetch  a  drink  for  me  and  tell 
me  is  there  a  Mr.  Drogue  lodging  here?  Hey?  Upstairs?  Well, 
wait  a  minute " 

I  still  had  Penelope's  hand  in  mine  as  in  the  grip  of  a  vise, 
so  excited  was  I,  when  the  express  came  stamping  up  the  stairs 
in  his  jack-boots  and  pistols — a  light-horseman  of  the  Albany 
troop,  who  seemed  smart  enough  in  his  mud-splashed  helmet  and 
uniform. 

"You  are  Mr.  Drogue,  sir?" 

"I  am." 

He  promptly  saluted,  fished  out  a  letter  from  his  sack  and  of- 
fered it. 

In  my  joy  I  gave  him  five  shillings  in  hard  money,  and  then, 
dragging  Penelope  by  the  hand,  hastened  to  break  the  numerous 
and  heavy  seals  and  open  my  letter  and  read  it  by  the  candle's 
yellow  flare. 

"Headquarters   Northern   Dist: 
Dept:  of  Tryon  County. 
Albany,  N.  Y. 

August  1st,  1777. 
Confidential 

"To  John  Drogue,  Esqr, 
Lieut:  Rangers. 

Sir, 

"An  Oneida  runner  arrived  today,  who  gives  an  account  that 
Gen*  St.  Leger,  with  the  corps  of  Sir  John  Johnson  and  Colonel 
John  Butler,  including  a  thousand  savages  under  Joseph  Brant, 
has  been  detached  from  the  army  of  Gen*  Burgoyne,  and  is 
marching  on  Fort  Schuyler. 

"You  are  directed  to  take  the  field  instantly  with  a  SCOUT 
of  Oneida  Indians,  who  await  you  at  a  rendezvous  marked  upon 
the  secret  map  which  I  enclose  herewith. 

"You  will  cross  the  Buck  Island  trail  somewhere  between  Rocky 
River  and  the  Mohawk,  and  observe  St.  Leger's  line  of  communica- 
tions, cutting  off  such  small  posts  as  prove  not  too  strong,  taking 
prisoners  if  possible,  and  ascertaining  St.  Leger's  ultimate  ob- 
jective, which  may  be  Johnstown  or  even  Schenectady. 

"Having  satisfied  yourself  concerning  these  matters,  you  wili 


send  your  despatch  by  a  runner  to  Albany,  and  instantly  move 
your  detachment  toward  Saratoga,  where  you  should  come  into 
touch  with  our  Northern  forces  under  General  Gates,  and  there- 
render  a  verbal  report  to  General  Gates  in  person. 

"You  are  strictly  cautioned  to  destroy  this  letter  after  reading, 
and  to  maintain  absolute  secrecy  concerning  its  contents.  The 
map  you  may  retain,  but  if  you  are  taken  you  should  endeavour 
to  destroy  it. 

"Sir,  I  have  the  honour  to  be,  etc.,  etc., 

"Ph.  Schuyler, 

"Maj:  Gen'l." 

Twice  I  read  the  letter  before  I  twisted  it  to  a  torch  and  burned 
it  in  the  candle  flame. 

Then  I  called  out  to  the  express:  "Say  to  the  personage  who 
sent  you  hither  that  his  letter  is  destroyed,  and  his  orders  shall 
be  instantly  obeyed.  Burke  has  fresh  horses  for  those  who  ride 
express." 

Off  downstairs  he  went  in  his  jack-boots,  equipments  jingling 
and  clanking,  and  I  unfolded  my  map  but  scarce  could  hold  it 
steady  in  my  excitement. 

Immediately  I  perceived  that  I  did  not  need  the  map  to  find 
the  rendezvous,  for,  as  Brent-Meester,  I  had  known  that  wilder- 
ness as  perfectly  as  I  knew  the  streets  in  Johnstown. 

So  I  made  another  torch  of  the  map,  laughing  under  my  breath 
to  think  that  Sir  William's  late  forest  warden  should  require 
such  an  article. 

All  this  time,  too,  I  had  forgotten  Penelope;  and  turned,  now, 
and  saw  her  watching  me,  slim  and  motionless  and  white  as 
snow. 

When  her  eyes  met  mine  she  strove  to  smile,  asking  me  whether 
indeed  she  had  not  proven  a  true  prophetess. 

As  she  spoke,  suddenly  a  great  fear  possessed  me  concerning 
her;  and  I  stood  staring  at  her  in  a  terrible  perplexity. 

For  now  there  seemed  to  be  nothing  for  it  but  to  leave  her 
here,  the  Schenectady  road  already  being  unsafe,  or  so  considered 
by  Schuyler  until  more  certain  information  could  be  obtained. 

"Do  you  leave  tonight?"  she  asked  calmly. 

"Yes,  immediately." 

She  cast  a  glance  at  my  rifle  standing  in  the  corner,  and  at  my 
pack,  which  I  had  always  ready  in  the  event  of  such  sudden 
summons. 

Now  I  went  over  to  the  corner  where  my  baggage  lay,  lifted 


280  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

the  pack  and  strapped  it;  put  on  powder  horn,  bullet  pouch,  and 
sack,  slung  my  knife  and  my  light  war-hatchet,  and  took  my  cap 
and  rifle. 

The  moment  of  parting  was  here.  It  scared  and  confused  me, 
so  swiftly  had  it  come  upon  us. 

As  I  went  toward  her  she  turned  and  walked  to  the  door,  and 
leaned  against  the  frame  awaiting  me. 

"If  trouble  comes,"  I  muttered,  "the  fort  is  strong.  .  .  .  But 
I  wish  to  God  you  were  in  Albany." 

"I  shall  do  well  enough  here.  .  .  .  Will  you  come  again  to 
Johnstown  ?" 

"Yes.     Good-bye." 

"Good-bye,  John  Drogue." 

"Will  you  care  for  Kaya?" 

"Yes." 

"And  if  I  do  not  return  you  are  to  have  all  with  which  I  die 
possessed.  I  have  written  it." 

"In  that  event  I  keep  only  my  memory  of  you.  The  rest  I  offer 
to  the  needy — in  your  name." 

Her  voice  was  steady,  and  her  hand,  too,  where  it  lay  passive 
in  mine.  But  it  crisped  and  caught  my  fingers  convulsively  when 
I  kissed  her;  and  crept  up  along  my  fringed  sleeve  to  my  shoulder- 
cape,  and  grasped  the  green  thrums. 

And  now  her  arm  lay  tightly  around  my  neck,  and  I  looked 
down  into  the  whitest  face  I  ever  had  gazed  upon. 

"I  love  you  dearly,"  I  said,  "and  am  deep  in  love.  ...  I  want 
you,  Penelope  Grant." 

"I  want  you,"  she  said. 

My  heart  was  suffocating  me : 

"Shall  we  exchange  vows?"  I  managed  to  say. 

"What  vows,  sir?" 

"Such  as  engage  our  honour.  I  want  you  to  wife,  Penelope 
Grant." 

"Dear  lad!  What  are  you  saying?  You  should  travel  widely 
and  at  leisure  before  you  commit  your  honour  to  an  unconsidered 
vow.  I  desire  that  you  first  see  great  cities,  other  countries, 
other  women — of  your  own  caste.  .  .  .  And  then  ...  if  you 
return  .  .  .  and  are  still  of  the  same  mind  .  .  .  concerning 
me  ..." 

"But  you?  There  are  other  men  in  the  world.  And  I  must  have 
your  vows  before  I  go!" 

"Oh,  if  it  be  only  mine  you  desire,  then  I  promise  you,  John 
Drogue,  to  look  at  no  man  with  kindness  in  your  absence,  vthink 


ORDERS  281 

of  no  man  excepting  you,  pray  for  none  save  only  His  Excellency 
and  General  Schuyler,  dream  of  none,  God  willing,  but  you.  And  to 
remain  in  deed  and  thought  and  word  and  conduct  constant  and 
faithful  to  you  alone." 

"Then,"  said  I,  trembling,  "I  also  promise " 

"No!" 

"But  I " 

"Wait  I  For  God's  sake  mind  what  you  say ;  for  I  will  not  have 
it  that  your  honour  should  ever  summon  you  hither  and  not 
your  heart!  No!  Let  be  as  it  is." 

Her  sudden  warmth  and  the  quick  flush  of  determination  on 
her  face  checked  and  silenced  me. 

She  said  very  coolly:  "Any  person  of  sense  must  know  that 
a  marriage  is  unsuitable  between  a  servant  to  Douw  Fonda  and 
John  Murray  Drogue  Forbes,  Laird  of  Northesk,  and  a  Stonnont 
to  boot!" 

"Where  got  you  that  Forbes?"  I  demanded,  astonished  and 
angry. 

She  laughed.     "Because  I  know  the  clan,  my  lord!" 

"How  do  you  know  ?"  I  repeated,  astounded. 

"Because  it  is  my  own  clan  and  name.  Drogue-Forbes,  Grant- 
Forbes  ! — a  claymore  or  a  pair  of  scissors  can  snip  the  link  when 
some  Glencoe  or  Culloden  of  adversity  scatters  families  to  the 
four  winds  and  seven  seas.  .  .  .  Well,  sir,  as  the  saying  is  in 
Northesk,  'a  Drogue  stops  at  nothing  but  a  Forbes.  And  a  Grant 
is  as  stubborn/  Did  you  ever  hear  that?" 

"Yes.  .  .  .  And  you  are  a  Forbes  of  Northesk?" 

"Like  yourself,  sir,  we  stop  before  a  liaison." 

Her  rapier  wit  confused  and  amazed  me;  her  sudden  revela- 
tion of  our  kinship  confounded  me. 

"Good  God,"  said  I,  "why  have  you  never  told  me  this, 
Penelope?" 

She  shook  her  yellow  head  defiantly:  "A  would  na,"  quoth  she, 
her  chin  hanging  down,  but  the  brown  eyes  of  her  watching  me. 
"And  it  was  a  servant-maid  you  asked  to  wife  you,  and  none 
other  either.  .  .  .  D'ye  ken  that,  you  Stormont  lad?  It  was 
me — me! — who  may  wear  the  Beadlaidh,  too! — me  who  can  cry 
'Lonach!  Lonach!  Creag  Ealachaidh!'  with  as  stout  a  heart 
and  clean  a  pride  as  you,  Ian  Drogue,  Laird  o'  Northesk! — laird 
o'  my  soul  and  heart — my  lord — my  dear,  dear  lord " 

She  flung  her  arms  across  her  face  and  burst  into  a  fit  of 
weeping;  and  as  I  caught  her  in  my  arms  she  leaned  so  on  my 
breast,  sobbing  out  her  happiness  and  fears  and  pride  and  love, 


282  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

and  her  gratitude  to  God  that  I  should  have  loved  her  for  herself 
in  the  body  of  a  maid-servant,  and  that  I  had  bespoken  her  fairly 
where  in  all  the  land  no  man  had  offered  more  than  that  which 
she  might  take  from  him  out  of  his  left  hand. 

So,  for  a  long  while,  we  stood  there  together,  clasped  breast 
to  breast,  dumb  with  tenderness  and  mazed  in  the  spell  of  first 
young  love. 

I  stammered  my  vows,  and  she  now  opposed  me  nothing,  only 
clinging  to  me  the  closer,  confident,  submissive,  acquiescent  in  all 
I  wished  and  asked  and  said. 

There  were  ink,  paper,  a  quill,  and  sand  in  her  chamber.  We 
went  thither,  and  I  wrote  out  drafts  upon  Schenectady,  and  com- 
posed letters  of  assurance  and  recognition,  which  would  be  useful 
to  her  in  case  of  necessity. 

I  got  Jimmy  Burke  out  o'  bed  and  shewed  him  all  I  had  writ, 
and  made  him  witness  our  signatures  and  engaged  him  to  appear 
if  necessary. 

These  papers  and  money  drafts,  together  with  Penelope's  papers 
and  letters  she  had  of  Douw  Fonda  and  of  the  Patroon,  were 
sufficient  to  establish  her  with  the  new  will  I  made  and  had 
witnessed  at  the  fort  a  week  before. 

And  so,  at  midnight,  in  her  little  chamber  at  Burke's  Inn,  I 
parted  from  Penelope  Grant, — dropped  to  my  knee  and  kissed 
her  feet,  who  had  been  servant  to  the  county  gentry  and  courted 
by  the  county  quality,  but  had  been  mistress  of  none  in  all  the 
world  excepting  only  of  herself. 

When  I  was  ready  she  handed  me  my  rifle,  buckled  up  my 
shoulder  sack,  smoothed  my  fringed  cape  with  steady  hands,  walked 
with  me  to  her  chamber  door. 

Her  face  rested  an  instant  against  mine,  but  there  were  no 
tears,  no  trembling,  only  the  swift  passion  of  her  lips ;  and  then — 
"God  be  with  you,  John  Drogue!"  And  so,  with  gay  courage, 
closed  her  chamber  door. 

I  turned  and  stumbled  out  along  the  corridor,  carrying  my  rifle 
and  feeling  my  way  to  the  hand-rail,  down  the  creaking  stair- 
way, and  out  into  the  starry  night. 


CHAPTEK  XXVII 

FIEE-FUES 

HAT  night  I  lay  on  my  blanket  in  the  forest,  but  slept  only 
X     three  hours,  and  was  awake  in  the  gates  of  morning  before 
the  sun  rose,  ready  to  move  on  to  the  Wood  of  Brakabeen,  our 
rendezvous  in  Schoharie. 

Never  shall  I  forget  that  August  day  so  crowded  with  events. 

And  first  in  the  yellow  flare  of  sun-up,  on  the  edge  of  a  pasture 
where  acres  of  dew  sparkled,  I  saw  a  young  girl  milking;  and 
went  to  her  to  beg  a  cup  of  new  milk. 

But  she  was  very  offish  until  she  learned  to  what  party  I  be- 
longed, and  then  gave  me  a  dipper  full  of  sweet  milk. 

When  I  had  satisfied  my  thirst,  she  took  me  by  the  hand  and 
drew  me  into  a  grove  of  pines  where  none  could  observe  us. 
And  here  she  told  me  her  name,  which  was  Angelica  Yrooman,  and 
warned  me  not  to  travel  through  Schoharie  by  any  highway. 

For,  said  she,  the  district  was  all  smouldering  with  disloyalty, 
and  the  Tories  growing  more  defiant  day  by  day  with  news  of 
Sir  John's  advance  and  McDonald  also  on  the  way  from  the  south- 
ward to  burn  the  place  and  murder  all. 

"My  God,  sir,"  says  she,  in  a  very  passion  of  horror  and  re- 
sentment, "I  know  not  how  we,  in  Schoharie,  shall  contrive,  for 
Herkimer  has  called  out  our  regiment  and  they  march  this 
morning  to  their  rendezvous  with  the  Palatine  Regiment. 

"What  are  we  to  do,  sir?  The  Middle  Fort  alone  is  defen- 
sible; the  Upper  and  Lower  Forts  are  still  a-building,  and  soddera 
still  at  labour,  and  neither  ditch  nor  palisade  begun." 

"You  have  your  exempts,"  said  I,  troubled,  "and  your  rangers." 

"Our  exempts  work  on  the  forts;  our  rangers  are  few  and  scat- 
tered, and  Colonel  Harper  knows  not  where  to  turn  for  a  runner 
or  a  rifleman! 

"General  Schuyler  has  writ  to  my  father  and  says  how  he 
desires  General  Ten  Broeck  to  order  out  the  whole  of  the  militia, 
only  that  he  fears  that  they  will  behave  like  the  Schenectady  and 
Schoharie  militia  have  done  and  that  very  few  will  march  unless 
provision  is  ma<2e  for  their  families'  security. 

283 


284  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

"A  man  rides  express  today  to  the  garrison  in  the  Highlands 
to  pray  for  two  hundred  Continentals.  Which  is  only  just,  as 
we  are  exposed  to  McDonald  and  Sir  John,  and  Eave  already  sent 
most  of  our  men  to  the  Continental  Line,  and  have  left  only  our 
regiment,  which  marches  today,  and  the  remainder  all  disaf- 
fected and  plotting  treason." 

"Plotting  treason?  What  do  you  mean,  child?"  I  demanded 
anxiously. 

"Why,  sir,  Captain  Mann  and  his  company  refuse  to  march. 
He  declares  himself  a  friend  to  King  George,  has  barricaded 
Brick  House,*  is  collecting  Indians  and  Tories,  and  swears  he  will 
join  McDonald's  outlaws  and  destroy  us  unless  we  lay  down  our 
arms  and  accept  royal  protection." 

"Why — why  the  filthy  dog!"  I  stammered,  "I  have  never  heard 
the  like  of  such  treason !" 

"Can  you  help  us,  sir?"  she  asked  earnestly. 

"I  shall  endeavour  to  do  so,"  said  I,  red  with  wrath. 

Our  people  have  planned  to  seize  and  barricade  Stone  House," 
said  she.  "My  father  rides  express  to  Albany.  Why,  sir,  so  put 
to  it  are  we  that  Henry  Hager,  an  aged  exempt  of  over  seventy 
years,  is  scouting  for  our  party.  Is  our  situation  not  pitiful?" 

"Have  all  the  young  men  gone?  Have  you  no  brothers  to  de- 
fend this  house?" 

"No,  sir.  ...  I  have  a  lover.  .  .  .  He  is  Lieutenant  Wirt,  of 
the  Albany  Light  Horse.  But  he  has  writ  to  my  father  that  he 
can  not  leave  his  cavalry  to  help  us." 

It  was  sad  enough;  and  I  promised  the  girl  I  would  do  what 
I  could;  and  so  left  her,  continuing  on  along  the  fences  in  the 
shadow  of  the  woods. 

It  was  not  long  afterward  when  I  heard  military  music  in  the 
distance.  And  now,  from  a  hill,  I  saw  long  files  of  muskets  shin- 
ing in  the  early  sun. 

It  was  the  Canajoharie  Kegiment  marching  with  fife,  drum, 
and  bugle-horn  to  join  Herkimer;  and  so  near  they  passed  at  the 
foot  of  the  low  hill  where  I  stood  that  I  could  see  and  recognize 
their  mounted  officers;  and  saw,  riding  with  them,  Spencer,  the 
Oneida  interpreter,  splendidly  horsed ;  and  Colonel  Cox,  old  George 
Klock's  smart  son-in-law,  who,  when  Brant  asked  him  if  he  were 
not  related  to  that  thieving  villain  of  the  Moonlight  Survey, 
replied:  "Yes,  I  am,  but  what  is  that  to  you,  you  s-  ...  of  an 
Indian!" 

*  The  house  stood  in  the  forks  of  the  Albany  and  Schenectady  road. 


FIRE-FLIES  235 

I  saw  and  recognized  Colonels  Vrooman  and  Zielie,  Majors 
Becker  and  Eckerson,  and  Larry  Schoolcraft,  tfte  regimental  ad- 
jutant; and,  sitting  upon  their  transport  waggon,  Dirck  Larra- 
way,  Storm  Becker,  Jost  Bouck  of  Clavarack,  and  Barent  Bergen 
of  Kinderhook. 

So,  in  the  morning  sunshine,  marched  the  15th  N.  Y.  Militia, 
carrying  in  its  ranks  the  flower  of  the  district's  manhood  and 
the  principal  defenders  of  the  Schoharie  Valley. 

Very  soberly  I  turned  away  into  the  woods. 

For  it  was  a  strange  and  moving  and  dreadful  sight  I  had 
beheld,  knowing  personally  almost  every  man  who  was  marching 
there  toward  the  British  fire,  and  aware  that  practically  every 
soldier  in  those  sturdy  ranks  had  a  brother,  or  father,  or  son,  or 
relative  of  some  description  in  the  ranks  of  the  opposing  party. 

Here,  indeed,  were  the  seeds  of  horror  that  civil  war  sprouts! 
For  I  think  that  only  the  Hager  family,  and  perhaps  the  Beckers, 
were  all  mustered  in  our  own  service.  But  there  were  Tory 
Vroomans,  Swarts,  Van  Dycks,  Eckersons,  Van  Slycks — aye,  even 
Tory  Herkimers,  too,  which  most  furiously  saddened  our  brave 
old  General  Honikol. 

Well,  I  took  to  the  forest  as  I  say,  but  it  was  so  thick  and  the 
travelling  so  wearisome,  that  I  bore  again  to  the  left,  and  pres- 
ently came  out  along  the  clearings  and  pasture  fences. 

Venturing  now  to  travel  the  highway  for  a  little  way,  and 
being  stopped  by  nobody,  I  became  more  confident;  and  when  I 
saw  a  woman  washing  clothes  by  the  Schoharie  Creek,  I  did  not 
trouble  to  avoid  her,  but  strode  on. 

She  heard  me  coming,  and  looked  up  over  her  shoulder;  anj 
I  saw  she  was  a  notorious  slattern  of  the  Valley,  whose  name,  I 
think,  was  Staats,  but  who  was  commonly  known  as  Rya's  Pup. 

"Aha !"  says  she,  clearing  the  unkempt  hair  from  her  ratty 
face.  "What  is  Forbes  o'  Culloden  doing  in  Schoharie?  Sure," 
says  she,  "there  must  be  blood  to  sniff  in  the  wind  when  a  Northesk 
bloodhound  comes  here  a-nosing  northward!" 

"Well,  Madame  Staats,"  said  I  calmly,  "you  appear  to  know 
more  about  Culloden  than  do  I  myself.  Did  that  great  loon, 
McDonald,  tell  you  all  these  old- wives'  tales?" 

"Ho-ho !"  says  she,  her  two  hands  on  her  hips,  a-kneeling  there 
by  the  water's  edge,  "the  McDonalds  should  know  blood,  too, 
when  they  smell  it." 

"You  seem  to  be  friends  with  that  outlaw.  And  do  you  know 
where  he  now  is?"  I  asked  carelessly. 

"If  I  do,"  says  the  slut,  with  an  oath,  "it  is  my  own  affair  and 


286  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

none  of  the  Forbes  or  Drogues  or  such  kittle-cattle  either; — 
mark  that,  my  young  cockerel,  and  journey  about  your  business!" 

"You  are  not  very  civil,  Madame  Staats." 

"Why,  you  damned  rebel,"  says  she,  "would  you  teach  me  man- 
ners?" 

"God  forbid,  madam,"  said  I,  smiling.  "I'd  wear  gray  hairs 
ere  you  learned  your  a-b-c." 

"You'll  wear  no  hair  at  all  when  McDonald  is  done  with  you," 
she  cries,  and  bursts  into  laughter  so  shocking  that  I  go  on, 
shivering  and  sad  to  see  in  any  woman  such  unkindness. 

About  noon  I  saw  Lawyer's  Tavern;  and  from  the  fences  north 
of  the  house  I  secretly  observed  it  for  a  long  while  before  ven- 
turing thither. 

John  Lawyer,  whatever  his  political  complexion,  welcomed  me 
kindly  and  gave  me  dinner. 

I  asked  news,  and  he  gave  an  account  that  Brick  House  was 
now  but  a  barracks  full  of  Tories  and  Schoharie  Indians,  led 
by  Sethen  and  Little  David  or  Ogeyonda,  a  runner,  who  now 
took  British  money  and  wore  scarlet  paint. 

"We  in  this  valley  know  not  what  to  do,"  said  he,  "nor  dare, 
indeed,  do  aught  save  take  protection  from  the  stronger  party,  as 
it  chances  to  be  at  the  moment,  and  thank  God  we  still  wear  our 
proper  hair." 

And,  try  as  I  might,  I  could  not  determine  to  which  party  he 
truly  belonged,  so  wary  was  mine  host  and  so  fearful  of  com- 
mitting himself. 

The  sun  hung  low  when  I  came  to  the  Wood  of  Brakabeen; 
and  saw  the  tall  forest  oaks,  their  tops  all  rosy  in  the  sunset,  and 
the  great  green  pines  wearing  their  gilded  spires  against  the 
evening  sky. 

Dusk  fell  as  I  traversed  the  wood,  where,  deep  within,  a  cool 
and  ferny  glade  runs  east  and  west,  and  a  small  and  icy  stream 
flows  through  the  nodding  grasses  of  the  swale,  setting  the  wet 
green  things  and  spray-drenched  blossoms  quivering  along  its 
banks. 

And  here,  suddenly,  in  the  purple  dusk,  three  Indians  rose  up 
and  barred  my  way.  And  I  saw,  with  joy,  my  three  Oneidas, 
Tahioni  the  Wolf,  Kwiyeh  the  Screech-owl,  Hanatoh  the  Water- 
snake,  all  shaven,  oiled,  and  in  their  paint;  and  all  wearing  the 
Tortoise  and  The  Little  Eed  Foot. 

So  deeply  the  encounter  affected  me  that  I  could  scarce  speak 


FIRE-FLIES  287 

as  I  pressed  their  extended  hands,  one  after  another,  and  felt 
their  eager,  caressing  touch  on  my  arms  and  shoulders. 

"Brother,"  they  said,  "we  are  happy  to  be  chosen  for  the  scout 
under  your  command.  We  are  contented  to  have  you  with  us 
again. 

"We  were  told  by  the  Saguenay,  who  passed  here  on  his  way 
to  the  Little  Falls,  that  you  had  recovered  of  your  hurts,  but 
we  are  glad  to  see  for  ourselves  that  this  is  so,  and  that  our  elder 
brother  is  strong  and  well  and  fit  once  more  for  the  battle-trail!" 

I  told  them  I  was  indeed  recovered,  and  never  felt  better  than 
at  that  moment.  I  inquired  warmly  concerning  each,  and  how 
fortune  had  treated  them.  I  listened  to  their  accounts  of 
stealthy  scouting,  of  ambushes  in  silent  places,  of  death-duels  amid 
the  eternal  dusk  of  shaggy  forests,  where  sunlight  never  pene- 
trated the  matted  roof  of  boughs. 

They  shewed  me  their  scalps,  their  scars,  their  equipment,  ac- 
coutrement, finery.  They  related  what  news  was  to  be  had  of 
the  enemy,  saying  that  Stanwix  was  already  invested  by  small 
advance  parties  of  Mohawks  under  forester  officers;  that  trees 
had  been  felled  across  Wood  Creek;  that  the  commands  of  Gan- 
sevoort  and  Willett  occupied  the  fort  on  which  soldiers  still 
worked  to  sod  the  parapets. 

Of  McDonald,  however,  they  knew  nothing,  and  nothing  con- 
cerning Burgoyne,  but  they  had  brazenly  attended  the  Iroquois 
Federal  Council,  when  their  nation  was  summoned  there,  and  saw 
their  great  men,  Spencer  and  Skenandoa  treated  with  cold  in- 
difference when  the  attitude  of  the  Oneida  nation  was  made  clear 
to  the  Indian  Department  and  the  Six  Nations. 

"Then,  brother,"  said  Tahioni  sadly,  "our  sachems  covered 
themselves  in  their  blankets,  and  Skenandoa  led  them  from  the 
last  Onondaga  fire  that  ever  shall  burn  in  North  America." 

"And  we  young  warriors  followed,"  added  Kwiyeh,  "and  we 
walked  in  silence,  our  hands  resting  on  our  hatchets." 

"The  Long  House  is  breaking  in  two,"  said  the  Water-snake. 
"In  the  middle  it  is  sinking  down.  It  sags  already  over  Oneida 
Lake.  The  serpent  that  lives  there  shall  see  it  settling  down 
through  the  deep  water  to  lie  in  ruins  upon  the  magic  sands  for- 
ever." 

After  a  decent  silence  Tahioni  patted  the  Little  Red  Foot  sewed 
on  the  breast  of  my  hunting  shirt. 

•  "If  we  all  are  to  perish,"  he  said  proudly,  "they  shall  respect 
our  scalps  and  our  memory.  Haih!  Oneida!  We  young  men 
salute  our  dying  nation." 


288  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

I  lifted  my  hatchet  in  silence,  then  slowly  sheathed  it. 

"Is  our  Little  Maid  of  Askalege  well?"  I  asked. 

"Thiohero  is  well.  The  Eiver-reed  makes  magic  yonder  in  the 
swale,"  said  Tahioni  seriously. 

"Is  Thiohero  here?"  I  exclaimed. 

Her  brother  smiled:  "She  is  a  girl-warrior  as  well  as  our 
Oneida  prophetess.  Skenandoa  respects  and  consults  her.  Spen- 
cer, who  worships  your  white  God  and  is  still  humble  before 
Tharon,  has  said  that  my  sister  is  quite  a  witch.  All  Oneidas 
know  her  to  be  a  sorceress.  She  can  make  a  pair  of  old  mocca- 
sins jump  about  when  she  drums." 

"Where  is  she  now?" 

"Yonder  in  the  glade  dancing  with  the  fireflies." 

I  walked  forward  in  the  luminous  dusk,  surrounded  by  my 
Oneidas.  And,  of  a  sudden,  in  the  swale  ahead  I  saw  sparks 
whirling  up  in  clouds,  but  perceived  no  fire. 

"Fireflies,"  whispered  Tahioni. 

And  now,  in  the  centre  of  the  turbulent  whirl  of  living  sparks, 
I  saw  a  slim  and  supple  shape,  like  a  boy  warrior  stripped  for 
war,  and  dancing  there  all  alone  amid  the  gold  and  myriad  green- 
ish dots  of  light  eddying  above  the  swale  grass. 

Swaying,  twisting,  graceful  as  a  thread  of  smoke,  the  little 
sorceress  danced  in  a  perfect  whirlwind  of  fireflies,  which  made 
an  incandescent  cloud  enveloping  her. 

And  I  heard  her  singing  in  a  low,  clear  voice  the  song  that 
timed  the  rhythm  of  her  naked  limbs  and  her  painted  body,  from 
which  the  cinctured  wampum-broidered  sporran  flew  like  a  shower 
of  jewels: 

"Wood  o'  Brakabeen, 
Hiahya ! 

Leaves,  flowers,  grasses  green, 
Dancing  where  you  lean 
Above  the  stream  unseen, 
Hiahya ! 

Dance,   little  fireflies, 
Like  shooting  stars  in  winter  skies; 
Dance,   little   fireflies, 
As  the  Oneida  Dancers  whirl, 
Where   silver   clouds  unfurl, 
Revealing  a  dark  Heaven 
And    Sisters    Seven. 
Hiahya!     Wood  o'  Brakabeen! 
Hiahya !     Grasses   green ! 


FIRE-FLIES  289 

You  shall  tell  me  what  they  mean 

Who  ride  hither, 

Who  'bide  thither, 

Who  creep  unseen 

In  red  coats  and  in  green; 

Who  come  this  way, 

Who  come  to  slay! 

Hiahya!    my   fireflies! 

Tell  me  all  you  know 

About  the  foe! 

Where  hath  he  hidden? 

Whither  hath  he  ridden? 

Where  are  the  Maquas  in  their  paint, 

Who  have  forgotten  their  Girl-Sainte?* 

Hiahya ! 

I   am   The   River-Reed! 

Hiahya ! 

All  things  take  heed! 

Naked,  without  drum  or  mask 

I   do  my  magic  task. 

Fireflies,  tell  me  what  I  ask!  .  .  ." 

'Tie-he!"  chuckled  The  Water-snake,  "Thiohero  is  quite  a 
witch!" 

We  seated  ourselves.  If  the  Little  Maid  of  Askalege,  whirling 
in  her  dance,  perceived  us  through  her  veil  of  living  phosphores- 
cence, she  made  no  sign. 

And  it  was  a  long  time  before  she  stood  still,  swayed  outward, 
reeled  across  the  grass,  and  fell  face  down  among  the  ferns. 

As  I  sprang  to  my  feet  Tahioni  caught  my  arm. 

"Remain  very  silent  and  still,  my  elder  brother,"  he  said  gravely. 

For  a  full  hour,  I  think,  the  girl  lay  motionless  among  the 
ferns.  The  cloud  of  fireflies  had  vanished.  Rarely  one  sparkled 
distantly  now,  far  away  in  the  glade. 

The  delay,  in  the  darkness,  seemed  interminable  before  the 
girl  stirred,  raised  her  head,  slowly  sat  upright. 

Then  she  lifted  one  slim  arm  and  called  softly  to  me: 

"Nai,  my  Captain!" 

"Nai,  Thiohero!"  I  answered. 

She  came  creeping  through  the  herbage  and  gathered  herself 
cross-legged  beside  me.  I  took  her  hands  warmly,  and  released 
them;  and  she  caressed  my  arms  and  face  with  velvet  touch. 

"It   is    happiness    to    see   you,   my    Captain,"    she   said    softly. 

*  Catherine.  Her  shrine  is  at  Auriesville — the  Lourdea  of  America— « 
where  many  miraculous  cures  are  effected. 


290  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

"Nail  Was  I  not  right  "when  I  foretold  your  hurt  at  the  fight 
near  the  Drowned  Lands?" 

"Truly,"  said  I,  "you  are  a  sorceress;  and  I  am  deeply  grateful 
to  you  for  your  care  of  me  when  I  lay  wounded  by  HowelFs  house." 

"I  hear  you.  I  listen  attentively.  I  am  glad,"  she  said.  "And 
I  continue  to  listen  for  your  voice,  my  Captain." 

"Then — have  you  talked  secretly  with  the  fireflies?"  I  asked 
gravely. 

"I  have  talked  with  them." 

"And  have  they  told  you  anything,  little  sister?" 

"The  fireflies  say  that  many  green-coats  and  Maquas  have  gone 
to  Stanwix,"  she  replied  seriously,  "and  that  other  green-coats, 
— who  now  wear  red  coats, — are  following  from  Oswego." 

I  nodded:     "Sir  John's  Yorkers,"  I  said  to  Tahioni. 

"Also,"  she  said,  "there  are  with  them  men  in  strange  uniforms^ 
which  are  not  American,  not  British." 

"Whatl"  I  exclaimed,  startled  in  spite  of  myself. 

"Strange  men  in  strange  dress,"  she  murmured,  "who  speak 
neither  English  nor  French  nor  Iroquois  nor  Algonquin." 

Then,  all  in  an  instant,  it  came  to  me  what  she  meant — what 
Penelope  had  meant. 

"You  mean  the  Chasseurs  from  Buck  Island,"  said  I,  "the 
Hessians !" 

But  she  did  not  know,  only  that  they  wore  gray  and  green 
clothing  and  were  tall,  ruddy  men — taller  for  the  odd  caps  they 
wore,  and  their  long  legs  buttoned  in  black  to  the  hips. 

"Hessians,"  I  repeated.  "Hainault  riflemen  hired  out  to  the 
King  of  England  by  their  greedy  and  contemptible  German  mas- 
ter and  by  that  great  ass,  George  Third,  shipped  hither  to  stir 
in  us  Americans  a  hatred  for  himself  that  never  shall  be  ex- 
tinguished !" 

"Are  their  scalps  well  haired?"  inquired  Tahioni  anxiously. 

It  seemed  a  ludicrous  thing  to  say,  and  I  was  put  to  it  to  stifle 
my  sudden  mirth. 

"They  wear  pig-tails  in  eel-skins,  and  stiffened  with  pomade 
that  stinks  from  New  York  to  Albany,"  said  I. 

Then  my  mood  sobered  again;  and  I  thought  of  Penelope's 
vision  and  -wondered  whether  I  was  truly  fated  to  meet  my  end 
in  combat  with  these  dogs  of  Germans. 

The  Screech-owl  had  made  (a  fire.  Also,  before  my  arrival  he 
had  killed  an  August  doe,  and  a  haunch  was  now  a-roasting  and 
filling  my  nostrils  with  a  pleasant  odour. 


FIRE-FLIES  291 

We  spread  our  blankets  and  ate  our  parched  corn,  watching  our 
aieat  cooking. 

"And  McDonald?"  I  inquired  of  Thiohero,  who  sat  close  to 
me  and  rested  her  head  on  my  shoulder  while  eating  her  parched 
corn. 

"My  fireflies  tell  me,"  said  she  gravely,  "that  the  outlaws  travel 
this  way,  and  shall  hang  on  the  Schoharie  in  ambush." 

"When?" 

"When  there  is  a  battle  near  Stanwix." 

"Oh.     Shall  McDonald  come  to  Brakabeen?" 

"Yes." 

I  gazed  absently  at  the  fire,  slowly  chewing  my  parched  com. 


CHAPTEE   XXVLLL 

OYANEH  ! 

THE  problem  which  I  must  now  solve  staggered  me.  How 
was  it  possible,  with  my  little  scout  of  five,  to  discover 
McDonald's  approach  and  also  find  Sir  John's  line  of  communi- 
cation and  penetrate  his  purpose? 

On  a  leaf  of  my  carnet  I  made  a  map  which  was  shaped  like 
an  immense  right-angle  triangle,  its  apex  Fort  Stanwix  in  the 
west;  its  base  Schoharie  Creek;  the  Mohawk  River  its  perpen- 
dicular; its  hypothenuse  my  bee's-flight  to  Oneida. 

The  only  certain  information  I  possessed  was  that  Sir  John 
and  St.  Leger  had  sailed  from  Buck  Island  to  Oswego,  and  from 
there  were  marching  somewhere.  I  guessed,  of  course,  that  they 
were  approaching  the  Mohawk  by  way  of  Oneida  Lake;  yet,  even 
so,  they  might  have  detached  McDonald's  outlaws  and  sent  them 
to  Otsego;  or  they  might  be  coming  upon  us  in  full  force  from 
that  same  direction,  with  flanking  war  parties  flung  out  toward 
Stanwix  to  aid  their  strategy. 

One  thing,  however,  seemed  almost  certain,  and  that  was  the 
direction  their  waggons  must  take  from  Oneida  Lake;  for  I  did 
not  think  Sir  John  would  attempt  Otsego  in  any  force  after  his 
tragic  dose  of  a  pathless  wilderness  the  year  before. 

I  saw  very  plainly,  however,  that  I  must  now  give  up  any 
attempt  to  scout  for  McDonald's  painted  demons  on  the  Schoharie 
until  I  had  discovered  Sir  John's  objective  and  traced  his  line 
of  communications.  And  I  realized  that  I  must  now  move  quickly. 

There  were  only  two  logical  methods  left  open  to  me  to  ac- 
complish this  hazardous  business  with  my  handful  of  scouts. 
The  easier  way  was  instantly  to  face  about,  secure  two  good  ca- 
noes at  Schoharie,  make  directly  for  the  Mohawk  River,  and  fol- 
low it  westward  by  water  day  and  night. 

But  the  surer  way  to  run  across  Sir  John's  trail — and  perhaps 
McDonald's — was  to  take  to  the  western  forests,  follow  the  hy- 
pothenuse of  the  great  triangle,  and,  travelling  lightly  and  swiftly 
northwest,  headed  straight  for  Oneida  Lake. 

This  was  what,  finally,  I  decided  to  attempt  as  I  lay  on  my 

292 


OYANEH!  293 

blanket  that  night;  and  I  was  loath  to  leave  the  Schoharie  and 
ashamed  to  turn  tail  to  McDonald's  ragamuffins,  when  the  entire 
district  was  in  so  great  distress,  and  Brakabeen  farms  a  rat's 
nest  of  disloyal  families. 

But  there  seemed  to  be  no  other  way  to  conduct  if  I  obeyed 
my  orders,  too; — no  better  method  of  discovering  McDonald  and 
of  devising  punishment  for  him,  even  though  in  the  meanwhile 
he  should  carry  fire  and  sword  through  Schoharie, — perhaps  men- 
ace Schenectady, — perhaps  Albany  itself. 

No,  there  was  no  other  choice;  and  finally  I  realized  this, 
after  a  night  passed  in  agonized  indecision,  and  asking  God's 
guidance  to  aid  my  inexperience  in  this  so  terrible  a  crisis. 

At  dawn  my  Indians  began  to  paint. 

After  we  had  eaten  a  bowl  of  samp  I  called  them  around  me, 
shewed  them  the  map  I  had  made  in  my  carnet,  told  them  what 
I  had  decided,  and  invited  opinions  from  everybody.  I  added 
that  there  now  was  no  time  for  any  customary  formalities  of 
deliberation  so  dear  to  all  Indians :  I  told  them  that  Tharon  and 
God  were  one;  and  that  our  ancestors  understood  and  approved 
what  we  were  about  to  do. 

Then  I  laid  a  handful  of  dry  sticks  upon  the  ground,  pretended 
that  this  was  a  fire;  warmed  my  hands  at  it;  lighted  an  imag- 
inary pipe;  puffed  it  and  passed  it  around  in  pantomime. 

Still  employing  symbols  to  reassure  these  young  Oneida  war- 
riors concerning  time-honoured  formalities  which  they  dared  not 
disregard,  I  drew  a  circle  in  the  air  with  my  finger,  cut  it  twice 
with  an  imaginary  horizontal  line  to  indicate  a  sunrise  and  a 
sunset,  then  turned  to  Tahioni  and  bade  him  answer  my  speech 
of  yesterday  after  a  night's  deliberation. 

The  young  warrior  replied  gravely  that  he  and  his  comrades 
had  consulted,  and  were  of  one  mind  with  me.  He  said  that  it 
was  with  sorrow  that  they  turned  their  backs  on  McDonald,  who 
was  a  great  villain  and  who  surely  would  now  be  coming  to 
Schoharie  to  murder  and  destroy;  but  that  it  did  no  good  to  sever 
the  tail  of  a  snake.  He  said  that  the  fanged  head  of  the  Tory 
Serpent  was  somewhere  east  of  Oneida  Lake;  that  if  we  scouted 
swiftly  and  thoroughly  in  that  direction  we  could  very  soon  sur- 
mise where  the  poisonous  head  was  about  to  strike,  by  discover- 
ing and  then  observing  the  direction  in  which  the  body  of  the 
serpent  was  travelling. 

One  by  one  I  asked  my  young  men  for  an  opinion:  the  youth- 
ful warriors  were  unanimous. 

Then  I  turned  and  gazed  fearfully  at  Thiohero,  knowing  well 


294  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

enough  that  these  other  adolescents  would  obey  her  blindly,  and 
in  dread  lest  her  own  dreams  should  sway  her  judgment  and 
counsel  her  to  advise  us  to  some  folly.  She  was  their  prophetess; 
there  was  nothing  to  do  without  her  sanction.  I  could  not  order 
these  Oneidas;  I  could  only  attempt  to  use  them  through  their 
own  instincts  and  personal  loyalty  to  myself. 

The  early  sun  gilded  the  painted  body  of  their  sorceress,  mak- 
ing of  her  clan  ensign  and  the  Little  Red  Foot  two  brilliant 
and  jewelled  symbols. 

She  stood  lithely  upright,  one  smooth  knee  nestling  to  the 
other,  her  feet  in  their  ankle  moccasins  planted  parallel  and  close 
together,  and  her  body  all  glistening  like  a  gold  dragon-fly. 

From  her  painted  cincture  hung  her  war-sporran, — a  narrow 
cascade  of  pale  blue  wampum  barred  with  scarlet  and  lined  with 
winter  weasel.  Hatchet  and  knife  swung  from  either  hip;  pow- 
der-horn and  bullet-wallet  dangled  beneath  her  arm-pits.  A  war 
bow  and  a  quiver  full  of  scarlet  arrows  hung  at  her  back.  Her 
hair,  shoulder-short  and  glossy-thick,  was  bound  above  the  brows 
by  a  tight  scarlet  circlet.  From  this,  across  her  left  ear,  sagged 
a  heron's  feather. 

Never  had  I  beheld  such  wild  and  supple  grace  in  any  living 
thing  save  only  in  a  young  panther  clothed  in  the  soft,  dun- 
gold  of  her  wedding  fur. 

"Thiohero,"  I  said,  "little  sister  to  whom  has  been  given  an 
instinct  more  delicate  than  ours,  and  senses  more  subtle,  and  a 
wisdom  both  human  and  superhuman, — you  who  listen  when  the 
forest  trees  talk  one  to  another  under  the  full  moon's  lustre, — 
you  who  understand  the  speech  of  our  lesser  comrades  that  fly 
through  the  air  paths  on  bright  wings,  or  run  through  the  dusky 
woodlands  on  four  furry  feet — you  who  speak  secretly  with  the 
mighty  dead;  who  whisper  and  laugh  with  fairies  and  little  peo- 
ple and  stone- throwers ;  who  with  your  magic  drum  can  make 
worn-out  and  cast-off  moccasins  dance;  whose  ancestress  ate  live 
coals  to  frighten  away  the  Flying  Heads;  whose  forefathers  de- 
stroyed the  Stonish  Giants;  we  Oneidas  of  the  clan  of  the  Little 
Red  Foot  are  now  of  one  mind  concerning  the  war-trail  we  ought 
to  take  and  follow  to  the  end! 

"Little  sister;  we  desire  to  know  your  opinion.     Hiero!" 

Then  the  Little  Maid  of  Askalege  folded  her  arms,  looking  me 
intently  in  the  eyes. 

"Brother,  and  my  Captain,"  she  said  very  quietly,  "a  year 
ago  I  told  you  that  you  should  come  from  Howell's  house  in  scar- 
let. And  it  was  so. 


OYANEH !  295 

"And  while  you  lay  at  Summer  House  a  Caughnawaga  woman, 
•with  yellow  hair,  washed  the  scarlet  from  your  body. 

"And  there  came  a  day  when  we  met  under  apple-trees  in  green 
fruit — this  Yellow  Haired  woman  and  I.  And,  stopping,  we  con- 
fronted each  the  other;  and  looked  deeply  into  one  another's 
minds. 

"Brother:  when  I  discovered  that  Yellow  Hair  was  in  love  with 
you  I  became  angry.  But  when  I  discovered  that  this  young 
woman  also  was  a  sorceress,  then  I  became  afraid. 

"Brother:  there  was  a  vision  in  her  mind,  and  I  also  beheld  the 
scene  she  gazed  at. 

Brotlier:  we  saw  a  battle  in  the  North,  and  men  in  strange  uni- 
forms, and  cannon  smoke.  And  we  lioth  were  looking  upon  you; 
and  upon  a  shape  near  you,  which  stood  wrapped  to  the  head  in 
white  garments. 

"Brother:  I  do  not  know  what  that  shape  may  have  been  which 
stood  robed  in  white  like  a  Chief  of  the  Eight  Plumed  Ones. 

"But  at  that  moment  we  both  understood — the  Yellow  Haired 
one  and  I — that  you  must  surely  travel  to  this  place  we  gazed  at. 

"So  it  makes  no  difference  where  you  decide  to  go;  all  trails 
lead  to  that  appointed  place;  and  you  shall  surely  come  there  at 
the  hour  appointed,  though  you  travel  the  world  over  and  across 
before  you  shall  at  last  arrive. 

"Brother:  we  Oneida,  of  the  Allied  Clan  of  the  Little  Red  Foot, 
are  now  of  one  mind  with  our  elder  brother.  He  is  our  chief 
and  Captain.  He  has  spoken  as  an  Oneida  to  Oneidas.  We  un- 
derstand. We  thank  him  for  his  love  offered.  We  thank  him 
for  his  kinship  offered.  We  accept;  and,  in  our  turn,  we  offer 
to  our  elder  brother  and  Captain  our  love  and  our  kinship.  We 
take  him  among  us  as  an  Oneida. 

"At  this  our  fire — for  alas!  no  fire  shall  burn  again  at  Onon- 
daga,  nor  at  Oneida  Lake,  nor  at  The  Wood's  Edge,  nor  at  Then- 
dara — I,  Thiohero,  Sorceress  of  Askalege,  and  Oyaneh,  salute  an 
Oneida  chief  and  Sachem.  Hail  Royaneh!" 

"Hai!  Royaneh!"  shouted  the  young  warriors  in  rising  ex- 
citement. 

The  girl  came  to  me  slowly,  stooped  and  tore  from  the  ground 
a  strand  of  club-moss.  Then,  straightening  up,  she  lifted  her 
arms  and  held  the  ehaplet  of  moss  over  my  heed, — symbol  of  the 
chief's  antlers. 

"O  nen  ti  eh  o  ya  nen  ton  tah  ya  qua  wen  ne  ken.  .  .  ." 

Her  young  voice  faltered,  broke : 

"Tah  o  nen  sah  gon  yan  nen  tah  ah  tah  o  nen  ti  torn  tah  ken 


296  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

yahtas!"  she  added  in  a  strangled  voice:  "Now  I  have  finished. 
Now  show  me  the  man!" 

"He  is  here !"  cried  the  excited  Oneidas.    "He  wears  the  antlers  I" 

Tahioni  stretched  out  his  hand;  it  was  trembling  when  he 
touched  the  red  foot  sewed  on  my  hunting  shirt. 

"What  is  his  name,  0  Thiohero,  whom  you  have  raised  up 
among  the  Oneida?  Who  mourn  a  great  man  dead?" 

A  deep  silence  fell  among  them;  for  what  their  prophetess  had 
done  meant  that  she  must  have  knowledge  that  a  great  man  and 
chief  among  the  Oneida  lay  dead  somewhere  at  that  very  moment. 

Slowly  the  girl  turned  her  head  from  one  to  another;  a  veiled 
look  drowned  her  gaze;  the  young  men  were  quivering  in  the 
imminence  of  a  revelation  based  upon  knowledge  which  could 
be  explained  only  by  sorcery. 

Then  the  Little  Maid  of  Askalege  took  a  dry  stick  from  the 
pretended  fire,  crumbled  it,  touched  her  lips  with  the  powder  in 
sign  of  personal  and  intimate  mourning. 

"Spencer,  Interpreter  and  Oneida  Chief,  shall  die  this  week 
in  battle,"  she  said  in  a  dull  voice. 

A  murmur  of  horror  and  rage,  instantly  checked  and  sup- 
pressed, left  the  Oneidas  staring  at  their  prophetess. 

"Therefore,"  she  whispered,  "I  acquaint  you  that  we  have 
chosen  this  young  man  to  take  his  place;  we  lift  the  antlers; 
we  give  him  the  same  name, — Hahyion!"* 

"Haih!     Hahyion!"  shouted  the  Oneidas  with  upflung  hands. 

I  was  dumb.  I  could  not  speak.  I  dared  not  ask  this  girl  why 
and  by  what  knowledge  she  presumed  to  predict  the  death  of 
Spencer,  and  to  raise  me  up  in  his  place  and  give  me  the  same 
name. 

In  spite  of  me  her  magic  made  me  shudder. 

But  now  that  I  was  truly  an  Oneida,  and  in  absolute  authority, 
I  must  act  quickly. 

"Come,  then,"  said  I  in  a  shaky  voice,  "we  People  of  the  Rock 
must  march  on  the  Gates  of  Sunset.  If  my  fate  lies  there,  why 
then  I  am  due  to  die  in  that  place!  .  .  .  Make  ready,  Oneidas!" 

The  Screech-owl  found  a  hollow  under  a  windfall;  and  here 
we  hurriedly  hid  our  heavier  baggage. 

Then,  when  all  had  completed  painting  the  Little  Red  Foot 
on  their  bellies,  I  stepped  swiftly  ahead  of  them  and  turned 
northwest. 

"March,"  I  said  in  a  low  voice. 

*  Haghriron,  of  the  Great  Rite,  in  the  Canienga  dialect. 


OYANEH !  297 

We  travelled  as  the  honey-bee  flies,  and  as  rapidly  -while  the 
going  was  good  en  route;  but  to  cover  this  great  triangle  of  for- 
ests we  were  obliged  to  use  the  tactics  of  hunting  wolves  and, 
from  some  given  point,  circle  the  surrounding  country,  in  hopes 
of  cutting  the  hidden  British  trail  we  sought. 

This  delayed  us;  but  it  was  the  only  way.  And,  like  trained 
hunting  dogs,  we  even  quartered  and  cut  up  the  wilderness, 
halting  and  encircling  Cherry  Yalley  on  the  second  day  out, 
because  I  knew  how  familiar  was  Walter  Butler  with  that  region 
and  with  the  people  who  inhabited  it,  and  suspected  that  he  might 
be  likely  to  lead  Bis  first  attack  over  ground  he  knew  so  well. 

Ah,  God! — had  I  known  then  what  all  the  world  knows  now! 
And  I  erred  only  in  guessing  at  the  time  of  Cherry  Valley's  mar- 
tyrdom, not  in  estimating  the  ferocious  purpose  of  young  Wal- 
ter Butler. 

i 

On  the  afternoon  of  our  second  day  out  from  Schoharie,  while 
we  were  still  beating  up  the  bush  of  the  Cherry  Valley  district, 
I  left  my  Indians  and  went  alone  down  into  the  pretty  settlement 
in  quest  of  information  and  also  to  renew  our  scanty  stock  of 
provisions.  I  found  the  lovely  place  almost  deserted,  save  for  a 
few  old  men  of  the  exempts  working  on  a  sort  of  fort  around 
Colonel  Clyde's  house,  and  a  few  women  and  children  who  had 
not  yet  gone  off  to  Schenectady  or  Albany. 

I  stopped  at  the  house  of  the  Wells  family.  John  Wells,  the 
father  of  my  friend  Bob,  had  been  one  of  the  Judges  of  the 
Tryon  County  courts,  sitting  on  the  bench  with  old  John  Butler, 
who  now  was  invading  us,  with  Sir  John,  in  arms. 

Bob  was  away  on  military  duty,  but  there  were  in  the  house 
his  mother,  his  wife,  his  four  little  children,  h'is  brother  Jack, 
and  Janet,  his  engaging  sister  whom  I  had  admired  so  often  at 
the  Hall,  and  who  was  beloved  like  a  daughter  by  Sir  William. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  amazement  of  these  delightful  and 
kindly  people  when  I  appeared  at  their  door  in  Cherry  Valley, 
nor  their  affectionate  hospitality  when  they  learned  my  purpose 
and  my  errand. 

A  sack  of  provisions  was  immediately  provided  me;  their  kind- 
ness and  courtesy  seemed  inexhaustible,  although  even  now  the 
shadow  of  terror  lay  over  Cherry  Valley.  Their  young  men  un- 
der Colonels  Clyde  and  Campbell  had  gone  to  join  Herkimer; 
they  were  utterly  destitute  of  defense  against  McDonald  or  Sir 
John  if  Schoharie  were  invaded,  or  if  Stanwix  fell,  or  if  Her- 
kimer gave  way  before  St.  Leger. 


298  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

They  asked  news  of  me  very  calmly,  and  I  told  them  all  I  had 
learned  and  something  of  the  sinister  rumours  which  now  were 
current  in  the  Mohawk  and  Schoharie  Valleys. 

They,  in  their  turn,  knew  nothing  positive  of  Sir  John,  but 
had  heard  that  he  was  marching  on  Stanwix  with  St.  Leger  and 
Brant,  and  that  a  thousand  savages  were  with  them. 

My  sojourn  at  the  Wells  house  was  brief;  the  family  was  evi- 
dently very  anxious  but  not  gloomy;  even  the  children  smiled 
courageously  when  I  made  my  adieux;  and  my  dear  little  friend, 
Janet,  led  me  by  the  hand  to  the  edge  of  the  brush-field,  through 
which  I  must  travel  to  regain  the  forest,  and  kissed  me  at  our 
parting. 

On  the  wood's  edge,  I  paused  and  looked  back  at  the  place 
called  Cherry  Valley,  lying  so  peacefully  in  the  sunshine,  where 
in  the  fields  grain  already  was  turning  golden  green ;  and  fat  cat- 
tle grazed  their  pastures;  and  wisps  of  smoke  drifted  from  every 
chimney. 

That  is  my  memory  of  Cherry  Valley  in  the  sunny  tranquillity 
of  late  afternoon,  where  tasseled  corn  like  ranks  of  plumed  In- 
dians, covered  vale  and  hillock;  and  clover  and  English  grass 
grew  green  again  after  the  first  haying;  and  on  some  orchard 
trees  the  summer  apples  glimmered  rosy  ripe  or  lush  gold  among 
the  leaves; — ah,  God! — if  I  could  have  known  what  another  year 
was  to  bring  to  Cherry  Valley! 

There  was  no  sound  in  the  still  settlement  except  a  dull  and 
distant  stirring  made  by  the  workmen  sodding  parapets  on  the 
new  and  unfinished  fort. 

From  where  I  stood  I  could  see  the  Wells  house,  and  the  little 
children  at  play  in  the  dooryard;  and  Peter  Smith,  a  servant, 
drawing  water,  who  one  day  was  to  see  his  master's  family  in 
their  blood. 

I  could  make  out  Colonel  Campbell's  house,  too,  and  the  chim- 
ney of  Colonel  Clyde's  house;  and  had  a  far  glimpse  of  the  resi- 
dence of  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dunlop,  the  aged  minister  of  Cherry 
Valley. 

From  a  gilded  weather-cock  I  was  able  to  guess  about  where 
Captain  M'Kean  should  reside;  and  Mr.  Mitchell's  barn  I  discov- 
ered, also.  But  M'Kean  and  his  rangers  must  now  be  marching 
with  Herkimer's  five  regiments  to  meet  the  hordes  of  St.  Leger. 

The  sun  sank  blood-red  behind  the  unbroken  forests,  and  the 
sky  over  Cherry  Valley  seemed  to  be  all  afire  as  I  turned  away 
and  entered  the  twilight  of  the  woods,  lugging  my  sack  of  pre- 
risions  on  my  back. 


OYANEH !  299 

That  night  my  Indians  and  I  lay  within  rifle-shot  of  the  Mo- 
hawk Kiver;  and  at  dawn  we  made  a  crow-flight  of  it  toward 
Oneida  Lake;  and  found  not  a  trace  of  Sir  John  or  of  anybody 
in  that  trackless  wilderness;  and  so  camped  at  last,  exhausted 
and  discouraged. 

On  the  fourth  day,  toward  sunset,  the  Screech-owl,  roaming 
far  out  on  our  western  flank,  returned  with  news  of  a  dead  and 
stinking  fire  in  the  woods,  and  fish  heads  rotting  in  it;  and  he 
thought  the  last  ember  burnt  out  some  four  days  since. 

He  took  us  to  it  in  the  dark,  and  his  was  a  better  woodcraft 
than  I  could  boast,  who  had  been  Brent-Meeater,  too.  At  dawn 
we  examined  the  ashes,  but  discovered  nothing;  and  we  were  eat- 
ing our  parched  corn  and  discussing  the  matter  of  the  fire  when, 
very  far  away  in  the  west,  a  shot  sounded;  and  in  that  same 
second  we  were  on  our  feet  and  listening  like  damned  men  for 
the  last  trumpet. 

My  heart  made  a  deadened  rataplan  like  a  muffled  drum,  and 
seemed  to  deafen  me,  so  terribly  intent  was  I. 

Tahioni  stretched  out  like  a  panther  sunning  on  a  log;  and 
laid  his  ear  flat  against  the  earth.  Seconds  grew  to  minutes; 
nobody  stirred;  no  other  sound  came  from  the  westward. 

Presently  I  turned  and  signalled  in  silence;  my  Indians  crawled 
noiselessly  to  their  allotted  intervals,  extending  our  line  north 
and  south;  then,  trailing  my  rifle,  I  stole  forward  through  an 
open  forest,  beneath  the  ancient  and  enormous  trees  of  which  no 
underbrush  grew  in  the  eternal  twilight. 

Nothing  stirred.  There  were  no  animals  here,  no  birds,  no 
living  creature  that  I  could  hear  or  see, — not  even  an  insect. 

Under  our  tread  the  mat  of  moist  dead  leaves  gave  back  no 
sound;  the  silence  in  this  dim  place  was  absolute. 

We  had  been  creeping  forward  for  more  than  an  hour,  I  think, 
before  I  discovered  the  first  sign  of  man  in  that  spectral  region. 

I  was  breasting  a  small  hillock  set  with  tall  walnut  trees,  in 
hopes  of  obtaining  a  better  view  ahead,  and  had  just  reached  the 
crest,  and,  lying  flat,  was  lifting  my  head  for  a  cautious  sur- 
vey, when  my  eye  caught  a  long,  wide  streak  of  sunlight  ahead. 

My  Indians,  too,  had  seen  this  tell-tale  evidence  which  indi- 
cated either  a  stream  or  a  road.  But  we  all  knew  it  was  a  road. 
We  could  see  the  sunshine  dappling  it;  and  we  crawled  toward  it, 
belly  dragging,  like  tree-cats  stalking  a  dappled  fawn. 

Scarce  had  we  come  near  enough  to  observe  this  road  plainly, 
and  the  crushed  ferns  and  swale  grasses  in  the  new  waggon  ruts, 
we  heard  horses  coming  at  a  great  distaace. 


300  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

Down  we  drop,  each  to  a  tree,  and  lie  with  levelled  pieces, 
while  slop!  thud!  clink!  come  the  horses,  nearer,  nearer;  and, 
to  my  astonishment  and  perplexity,  from  the  east,  and  travelling 
the  wrong  way. 

I  cautioned  my  Oneidas  fiercely  against  firing  unless  I  so 
signalled  them;  we  lay  waiting  in  an  excitement  well  nigh  unen- 
durable, while  nearer  and  nearer  came  the  leisurely  sound  of  the 
advancing  horses. 

And  now  we  saw  them! — three  red-coat  dragoons  riding  very 
carelessly  westward  on  this  wide,  well-trodden  road  which  now 
I  knew  must  lead  to  Oneida  Lake. 

I  could  see  the  British  horsemen  plainly.  The  day  was  hot; 
the  sun  beat  down  on  their  red  jackets  and  helmets;  they  sat 
their  saddles  wearily;  their  faces  were  wet  with  perspiration, 
and  they  had  loosened  jacket  and  neck-cloth,  and  their  pistols 
were  in  holster,  and  their  guns  slung  upon  their  backs. 

It  was  plain  that  these  troopers  had  no  thought  of  precaution 
nor  entertained  any  apprehension  of  danger  on  this  road,  which 
must  lie  in  the  rear  of  their  army,  and  must  also  be  their  route 
of  communication  between  the  Lake  and  the  Mohawk. 

Slap,  slop,  clink!  they  trampled  past  us  where  my  Oneidas  lay 
a-tremble  like  crouched  cats  to  see  the  rats  escaping  on  their 
runway. 

But  my  ears  had  caught  another  sound, — the  distant  noise  of 
wheels;  and  I  guessed  that  this  was  a  waggon  which  the  three 
horsemen  should  have  escorted,  but,  feeling  entirely  secure,  had 
let  their  horses  take  their  own  gait,  and  so  had  straggled  on  far 
ahead  of  the  convoy  with  which  they  should  have  kept  in  touch. 

The  waggon  was  far  away.  It  approached  slowly.  Already  the 
horsemen  had  ridden  clear  out  o'  sight;  and  we  crept  to  the  edge 
of  the  road  and  lay  flat  in  the  weeds,  waiting,  listening. 

Twice  the  approaching  vehicle  halted  as  though  to  rest  the 
horses;  the  dragoons  must  have  been  a  long  way  ahead  by  this 
time,  for  it  was  some  minutes  since  the  sound  of  their  horses' 
hoofs  had  died  away  in  the  woods. 

And  now,  near  and  ever  nearer,  creeps  the  waggon;  and  now 
it  seems  close  at  hand;  and  now  we  see  it  far  away  down  the 
road,  slowly  moving  toward  us. 

But  it  is  no  baggage-wain, — no  transport  cart  that  approaches 
us.  The  two  horses  are  caparisoned  in  bright  harness;  the  driver 
wears  a  red  waistcoat  and  is  a  negro,  and  powdered.  The  vehicle 
is  a  private  coach  which  lurches,  though  driven  cautiously. 

"Good  God !"  said  I,  "that  is  Sir  John's  family  coach !   Tahioni, 


OYANEH!  301 

hold  your  Oneidas!  For  I  mean  to  find  out  who  rides  so  care- 
lessly to  Oneida  Lake,  confiding  too  much  in  the  army  which  has 
passed  this  way!" 

Slowly,  slowly  the  coach  drew  near  our  ambush.  I  recognized 
Colas  as  the  coachman  pro  tern;  I  knew  the  horses  and  the  family 
coach;  saw  the  Johnson  arms  emblazoned  on  the  panels  as  I 
rose  from  the  roadside  weeds. 

"Colas!"  I  said  quietly. 

The  negro  pulled  in  his  horses  and  sat  staring  at  me,  as- 
tounded. 

I  walked  leisurely  past  the  horses  to  the  window  of  the  coach. 
And  there,  seated,  I  saw  Polly  Johnson  and  Claudia  Swift. 

There  ensued  a  terrible  silence  and  they  gazed  upon  me  as 
though  they  were  looking  upon  a  dead  man. 

"Jack  Drogue!"  whispered  Claudia,  "how — how  come  you  here!" 

I  bowed,  my  cap  in  my  hand,  but  could  not  utter  a  word. 

"Jack!  Jack,  are — are  you  alone?"  faltered  Lady  Johnson. 
"Good  heavens,  what  does  this  mean,  I  beg  of  you? " 

"Where  are  your  people,  Polly?"  I  asked  in  a  dead  voice. 

"My — my  people?    Do  you  mean  my  husband?" 

"I  mean  him.  .  .  .  And  his  troops.  Where  are  they  at  this 
moment  ?" 

"Do  you  not  know  that  the  army  is  before  Stanwix?" 

"I  know  it  now,"  said  I  gravely. 

"Mercy  on  us,  Jack!"  cried  Claudia,  finding  her  voice  shrilly; 
"will  you  not  tell  us  how  it  is  that  we  meet  you  here  on  the 
Oneida  road  and  close  to  our  own  army  ?" 

I  shook  my  head:  "No,  Claudia,  I  shall  not  tell  you.  But  I 
must  ask  you  how  you  came  here  and  whither  you  now  are  bound. 
And  you  must  answer." 

They  gazed  at  my  sombre  face  with  an  intentness  and  anxiety 
that  made  me  sadder  than  ever  I  was  in  all  my  life. 

Then,  without  a  word,  Lady  Johnson  laid  aside  the  silken  flap 
of  har  red  foot-mantle.  And  there  my  shocked  eyes  beheld  a 
new  born  baby  nursing  at  her  breast. 

"We  accompanied  my  husband  from  Buck  Island  to  Oswego," 
she  said  tremulously.  "And,  as  the  way  was  deemed  so  utterly 
secure,  we  took  boat  at  Oneida  Lake  and  brought  our  horses. 
.  .  .  And  now  are  returning — never  dreaming  of  danger  from — 
from  your  people — Jack." 

I  stared  at  the  child;  I  stared  at  her. 

"In  God's  name,"  I  said,  "get  forward  then,  and  hail  your 
horsemen  escort.  Say  to  them  that  the  road  is  dangerous !  Take 


302  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

to  your  batteau  and  get  you  to  Oswego  as  soon  as  may  be.  And 
I  atriotly  enjoin  you,  come  not  this  way  again,  for  there  is  now 
BO  safety  in  Tryon  for  man  or  woman  or  child,  nor  like  to  be 
while  red-coat  or  green  remains  within  this  new-born  nation! 

"And  you,  Claudia,  say  to  Sir  Frederick  Haldimand  that  he 
has  lighted  in  Tryon  a  flame  that  shall  utterly  consume  him 
though  he  hide  behind  the  ramparts  of  Quebec  itself!  Say  that 
to  him!" 

Then  I  stepped  back  and  bade  Colas  drive  on  as  fast  as  he 
dare.  And  when  he  cracked  his  long  whip,  I  stood  uncovered 
and  looked  upon  the  woman  I  once  had  loved,  and  upon  the  other 
woman  who  had  been  my  childhood  playmate;  and  saw  her  child 
at  her  breast,  and  her  pale  face  bowed  above  it. 

And  so  out  of  my  life  passed  these  two  women  forever,  with- 
out any  word  or  sign  save  for  the  white  faces  of  them  and  the 
deadly  fear  in  their  eyes. 

I  stood  there  in  the  Oneida  Road,  watching  their  coach  rolling 
and  swaying  until  it  was  out  of  view,  and  even  the  noise  of  it 
had  utterly  died  away. 

Then  I  walked  slowly  back  to  the  wood's  edge;  in  silence  my 
Oneidas  rose  from  the  weeds  and  stood  around  me  where  I  halted, 
the  sleeve  of  my  buckskin  shirt  across  my  eyes. 

Then,  when  I  was  ready,  I  turned  and  went  forward,  swiftly, 
in  a  southeasterly  direction;  and  heard  their  padded  footsteps 
falling  lightly  at  my  heels  as  I  hastened  toward  the  Mohawk,  a 
miserable,  sad,  yet  angry  man. 

All  that  long,  hot  day  we  travelled;  and  in  the  afternoon  black 
clouds  hid  the  sun,  and  presently  a  most  furious  thunder  storm 
burst  on  us  in  the  woods,  so  that  we  were  obliged  to  shelter  us 
tinder  the  hemlocks  and  lie  there  while  rain  roared  and  lightning 
blinded,  and  deafening  thunder  shook  the  ground  we  lay  on. 

It  was  over  in  an  hour.  The  forest  dripped  and  steamed  aa 
we  unwrapped  our  rifles  and  started  on. 

Twice,  it  seemed  to  me,  far  to  the  east  I  heard  a  duller,  vaguer 
noise  of  thunder;  and  my  Indians  also  noticed  it. 

Later,  with  the  sky  all  blue  above,  it  came  again — dull,  dis- 
tant shocks  with  no  rolling  echo  trailing  after. 

Tahioni  came  to  me,  and  I  saw  in  his  uneasy  eyes  what  I  also 
now  divined.  For  to  the  bravest  Indian  the  sound  of  cannon  is 
a  terror  and  an  abomination.  And  I  now  had  become  very  sure 
that  it  was  cannon  we  heard;  for  Stamwix  lay  far  across  the  wil- 


OYANEH !  303 

derness  in  that  direction,  and  the  heary,  lifelese,  and  superheated 
air  might  carry  the  solemn  sound  from  a  great  distance. 

But  I  said  nothing,  not  choosing  to  share  my  conclusions  with 
these  young  warriors  who,  though  they  had  taken  scalps  at  Big 
Eddy,  were  yet  scarcely  tried  in  war. 

That  night  we  lay  near  an  old  trail  which  I  knew  ran  to  CKsego 
and  passed  by  Colonel  Croghan's  new  house. 

And  on  this  trail,  early  the  following  morning,  we  encoun- 
tered two  men  whom  my  Indians,  instead  of  taking  as  they  should 
have  done,  instantly  shot  down.  Which  betrayed  their  inexperi- 
ence in  war;  and  I  rated  them  roundly. 

The  two  dead  men  were  bliw-eyed  Indians  in  all  the  horror  of 
their  shameful  paint  and  forest  dress. 

I  knew  one  of  them,  for  when  Tahioni  washed  their  lifeless 
visages  and  laid  them  on  their  backs,  there,  to  my  hot  indigna- 
tion, I  beheld  young  Thomas  Hare,  brother  to  Lieutenant  Henry 
Hare  and  to  Captain  James  Hare,  of  the  Indian  Service. 

Horror-stricken,  bitterly  mortified,  I  gazed  down  at  the  dead 
features  of  these  two  renegades  who  had  betrayed  their  own  race 
and  colour;  and  my  Indians,  watching  me,  understood  when  I 
turned  and  spat  upon  the  ground;  and  so  they  scalped  both — 
which  otherwise  they  had  not  dared  in  my  presence. 

We  found  on  them  every  evidence  that  they  were  serving  as 
a  scout  for  McDonald.  Probably  when  we  encountered  them  they 
had  been  on  their  way  to  Sir  John  at  Stanwix  with  verbal  in- 
telligence. But  now  it  was  idle  to  surmise  what  they  might  have 
been  able  to  tell  us. 

We  found  upon  their  bodies  no  papers  to  shew  where  McDonald 
might  be  lurking;  and  so,  as  I  would  not  trouble  to  bury  the  car- 
rion, my  Oneidas  despoiled  them,  hid  their  weapons,  pouched  their 
money  and  ammunition,  and  left  them  lying  on  the  trail  for 
their  more  respectable  relatives,  the  wolves,  to  devour. 

Now,  on  the  Otsego  trail,  which  was  but  a  vile  one  and  nigh 
impassable  with  undergrowth,  we  beat  toward  the  Mohawk  like 
circling  hounds  cast  out  and  at  fault  to  find  a  scent. 

And  at  evening  of  that  day,  the  seventh  of  August,  I  saw  a 
man  in  the  woods,  and,  watching,  ordered  my  Indians  to  sur- 
round him  and  bring  him  in  alive. 

Judge,  then,  of  my  chagrin  when  presently  conies  walking  up, 
*  and  arm  in  arm  with  my  Oneidas,  one  Daniel  Wemple  in  his 
militia  regimentals,  a  Torloeh  farmer  whom  I  knew. 


304  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

"Great  God,  John!"  says  he,  "what  are  you  doing  here  with 
your  tame  panthers  and  a  pair  o'  raw  scalps  that  smell  white  in 
my  nostrils?" 

I  told  him,  and  asked  in  turn  for  news. 

"You  know  nothing?"  he  demanded. 

"Nothing,  Dan,  only  that  we  heard  cannon  to  the  eastward  yes- 
terday." 

"Well,"  says  he,  "there  has  been  a  bloody  fight  at  Oriska,  John; 
and  Tryon  must  mourn  her  sons. 

"For  our  fine  regiments  marched  into  an  ambuscade  on  our 
way  to  drive  Sir  John  from  Stanwix,  which  he  had  invested. 
Colonel  Cox  is  dead,  and  Majors  Eisinlord  and  Klepsattle  and 
Van  Slyck.  Colonel  Paris  is  taken,  and  our  brigade  surgeon, 
Younglove,  and  Captain  Martin  of  the  batteaux  service.  John 
Frey,  Major  of  brigade,  is  missing,  and  so  is  Colonel  Bellinger. 
Scarce  an  inferior  officer  but  is  slain  or  taken;  our  dead  soldiers 
are  carted  off  by  waggon-loads;  our  wounded  lie  in  their  alder- 
litters.  And  among  them  our  general, — old  Honikol  Herkimer! 
— and  I  myself  saw  that  brave  Oneida  die — our  interpreter,  Spen- 
cer  " 

A  cry  escaped  me,  instantly  checked  as  I  looked  at  Thiohero. 
The  girl  came  and  rested  her  arm  on  my  left  shoulder  and  gazed 
steadily  at  the  militia  man. 

He  passed  his  hand  wearily  through  his  hair:  "Only  one  regi- 
ment ran,"  he  said  dully.  "I  shall  not  name  it  to  you  because  it 
was  not  entirely  their  fault;  and  afterward  they  lost  heavily  and 
fought  bravely.  But  this  is  a  dreadful  blow  to  Tryon,  John 
Drogue." 

"We  were  routed,  then?" 

"No.  We  drove  them  from  the  field  pell  mell !  We  cut  Brant's 
savages  to  pieces.  We  went  at  Sir  John's  Greens  with  our  bayo- 
nets and  tore  the  guts  out  of  them !  We  put  the  fear  o'  God  into 
Butler's  green-coats,  too,  and  there'll  be  caterwauling  in  Canada 
when  the  news  is  carried,  for  I  saw  young  Stephen  Watts  *  dead 
in  his  blood,  and  Hare  running  off  with  a  broken  arm  a-flapping 
and  he  a-screaming  like  a  singed  wildcat " 

"Steve  Watts!    Dead!" 

"I  saw  him.  I  saw  one  of  our  soldiers  take  his  watch  from 
his  body.  God !  What  a  shambles  was  there  at  Oriska !" 

But  I  was  thinking  of  young  Stevie  Watts,  Polly  Johnson's 
brother,  and  my  one-time  friend,  lying  dead  in  his  blood.  And 

•  Captain  Watts  was  left  for  dead  but  ultimately  recovered. 


OYANEH !  305 

I  thought  of  his  boyish  passion  for  Penelope.  And  her  kindness 
for  him.  And  remembered  how  last  I  had  seen  him.  .  .  .  And 
now  he  lay  dead;  and  I  had  seen  his  sister  but  a  few  hours  ago 
— seen  her  for  the  last  time  I  should  ever  beholo!  her. 

I  drew  a  breath  like  a  deep  and  painful  sigh. 

"And  the  Fort?"  I  asked  in  a  low  voice. 

"Stanwix  holds  fast,  John  Drogue.  Willet  is  there,  and 
Gansvoort  with  the  3rd  New  York  of  the  Line." 

"Have  you  news  of  McDonald,  Dan?" 

"None." 

"Whither  do  you  travel  express  ?" 

"To  Johnstown  with  the  news  if  I  can  get  there." 

I  warned  him  concerning  conditions  in  Schoharie.  We  shook 
hands,  and  I  watched  the  brave  militia  man  stride  away  through 
the  forest  all  alone. 

When  we  camped  that  night,  Thiohero  touched  her  brow  and 
breasts  with  ashes  from  our  fire.  That  was  her  formal  symbol 
of  mourning  for  Spencer.  Later  we  all  should  mourn  him  in  due 
ceremony. 

Then  she  came  and  lay  down  close  against  me  and  rested  her 
child's  face  on  my  hollow'd  arm.  And  so  slept  all  night  long, 
trembling  in  her  dreams. 

I  know  not  how  it  chanced  that  I  erred  in  my  scouting  and 
lost  direction,  but  on  the  tenth  day  of  August  my  Indians  and 
I  came  out  into  a  grassy  place  where  trees  grew  thinly. 

The  first  thing  I  saw  was  an  Indian,  hanging  by  the  heels 
from  a  tree,  and  lashed  there  with  the  traces  from  a  harness. 

At  the  same  time  one  of  my  Oneidas  discovered  a  white  man 
lying  with  his  feet  in  a  pool  of  water.  But  when  Tahioni  drew 
the  cocked  hat  from  his  head  to  see  his  countenance,  hair  and 
skin  stuck  to  it,  and  a  most  horrid  smell  filled  the  woods. 

And  now,  everywhere,  we  beheld  evidences  of  the  Oriska  com- 
bat, for  here  lay  a  soldier's  empty  knapsack,  and  yonder  a  ragged 
shirt,  and  there  a  rusting  tin  cup,  and  here  a  boot  all  bloody  and 
slit  to  the  toe. 

And  now,  looking  about  me,  I  suddenly  comprehended  that  we 
were  nearer  to  Stanwix  Fort  than  to  Oriska;  and  had  no  busi- 
ness any  nearer  to  either  place. 

We  now  were  in  a  most  perilous  region  and  must  proceed 
with  every  caution,  for  in  this  forest  Brant's  Iroquois  must  be 
roaming  everywhere  in  the  rear  of  the  troops  which  had  invested 
Stanwix. 

My  Oneidas  understood  this  without  explanation  from  me;  and 


306  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

they  and  I  also  became  further  alarmed  when,  to  our  aston- 
ishment, we  came  upon  a  broad  road  running  through  a  forest 
where  I  swear  no  road  had  existed  a  twelve-month  past. 

Where  this  road  led,  and  from  whence,  neither  my  Oneidas 
nor  I  knew.  It  was  a  raw  and  new  road,  yet  it  had  been  heavily 
travelled  both  ways  by  horse,  foot,  and  waggons.  It  seemed  to 
have  as  many  windings  as  the  Kennyetto  at  Fonda's  Bush;  and 
I  saw  it  had  been  builded  to  run  clear  of  hills  and  swampy  land, 
as  though  made  for  a  traffic  heavier  than  a  log  road  might  easily 
sustain. 

We  left  the  road  but  scouted  eastward  along  its  edge,  I  de- 
siring to  learn  more  of  it;  for  it  seemed  to  bear  toward  Wood 
Creek;  and  if  there  were  enemy  batteaux  to  be  seen  I  wished  to 
count  them. 

Suddenly  Thiohero  touched  my  arm, — caught  my  sleeve  con- 
vulsively. 

"Hahyion — Royaneh — my  elder  brother — O  my  white  Captain!" 
she  stammered,  clinging  to  me  in  her  excitement,  "here  is  the 
place!  Here  is  the  place  I  saw  in  my  vision!  Here  I  saw 
strange  uniforms  and  cannon  smoke — and  a  strange  white  shape 
— and  you — O  Hahyion — my  Captain! " 

I  looked  around  me,  suddenly  chilled  and  shivering  in  spite  of 
the  heat  of  a  summer  afternoon.  But  I  perceived  nobody  except 
my  Oneidas.  We  were  on  a  long,  sparsely-wooded  hillock  where 
juniper  spread  waist  high.  Below  I  could  see  the  new  road  curv- 
ing sharply  to  the  eastward.  But  nobody  moved  down  there: 
there  was  not  a  sound  to  be  heard,  not  a  movement  in  the  forest. 
All  around  us  was  still  as  death. 

Something  about  the  abrupt  bend  in  the  empty  road  below 
me  attracted  my  attention.  I  examined  it  intently  for  a  while, 
then,  cautioning  my  Indians,  I  ventured  to  move  forward  and 
around  the  south  slope  of  the  hillock,  wading  waist-deep  in 
juniper,  in  order  to  get  a  look  at  what  might  lie  behind  the  bend 
in  this  road  of  mystery. 

The  road  appeared  to  end  abruptly  just  around  the  curve,  as 
though  it  had  been  opened  only  so  far  and  then  abandoned.  This 
first  amazed  me  and  then  alarmed  me,  because  I  knew  it  could 
not  be  so  as  I  had  seen  on  the  roadbed  evidences  of  recent  and 
heavy  travel. 

I  stood  peering  down  at  it  where  it  seemed  to  stop  short  against 
the  green  and  tangled  barrier  of  the  woods  which  blocked  it  lifce 
a  living  abattis 

God!    It  was  an  abattis! — a  mask! 


OYANEH!  307 

As  I  realized  this  I  saw  a  man  in  a  strange,  outlandish  uni- 
form run  out  from  the  green  and  living  barrier,  look  up  at  me 
where  I  stood  in  the  juniper,  shout  out  something  in  German, 
and  stand  pointing  up  at  me  while  a  score  of  soldiers,  all  in  this 
same  outlandish  uniform,  swarmed  out  upon  the  road  and  started 
running  toward  where  I  stood. 

Then  I  came  to  my  senses,  clapped  my  rifle  to  my  cheek  and 
fired,  stopping  one  of  these  strange  soldiers  and  curing  him  of 
his  running  habits  forever. 

To  me  arrived  swiftly  my  Oneidas,  and  dropped  in  the  juniper, 
kneeling  and  firing  upon  the  soldiers  below.  Two  among  them 
fell  down  flat  on  the  road,  and  then  the  others  turned  and  fled 
straight  into  their  green  barrier  of  branches.  From  there  they 
fired  at  us  wildly,  keeping  up  a  strange,  hoarse  shouting. 

"Hessian  chasseurs!"  I  exclaimed.  "These  troops  can  be  no 
other  than  the  filthy  Germans  hired  by  King  George  to  come 
here  and  cut  our  throats!" 

"Those  men  wear  the  uniform  I  saw  in  my  vision  of  this 
place!"  whispered  Thiohero,  quietly  reloading  her  rifle.  "I  think 
that  this  is  truly  your  battle,  my  Captain." 

Then,  as  her  prophecy  of  cannon  came  into  my  mind,  there 
was  a  blinding  flash  from  that  green  barrier  below;  a  vast  cloud 
blotted  it  from  view;  the  pine  beside  which  I  stood  shivered  as 
though  thunder-smitten;  and  the  entire  top  of  it  crashed  down 
upon  us,  burying  us  all  in  lashing,  writhing  branches. 

So  stunned  and  stupefied  was  I  that  I  lay  for  an  instant  with- 
out motion,  my  ears  still  deafened  by  that  clap  of  thunder. 

But  now  I  floundered  to  my  feet  amid  the  pine- top's  debris; 
around  me  rose  my  terrified  Oneidas,  nearly  paralyzed  with 
fright. 

"Come,"  said  I,  "we  should  pull  foot  ere  they  blow  us  into 
pieces  with  their  damned  artillery.  Thiohero,  where  are  you?" 

"I  come,  Royaneh!" 

"Tahioni !     Kwiyeh !     Hanatoh !"  I  called  anxiously. 

Then  I  saw  them  all  creeping  like  weasels  from  under  the 
green  debris. 

"Hasten,"  I  muttered,  "for  we  shall  have  all  the  Iroquois  in 
North  America  on  our  backs  in  another  moment." 

As  we  started  to  retreat,  the  Germans  emptied  their  muskets 
after  us;  but  I  did  not  think  anybody  had  been  hit. 

We  now  were  running  in  single  file,  our  rifles  a-trail,  Tahioni 
leading,  and  I  some  distance  in  the  rear,  turning  my  head  over 
my  shoulder  from  moment  to  moment  to  see  if  we  were  followed. 


308  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

And  now,  as  I  ran  on,  I  understood  that  this  accursed  road 
had  been  made  expressly  to  transport  their  siege  artillery;  that 
their  guns  were  still  in  transit;  that  they  had  masked  a  cannon 
and  manned  it  with  Hessian  chasseurs  to  keep  their  gun-road 
safe  against  surprise  from  any  party  scouting  out  of  Oriska. 

Lord,  what  an  ambuscade!     And  what  an  escape  for  us! 

As  I  jogged  on  at  the  heels  of  my  Indians,  still  dazed  and 
shaken  by  the  deadly  surprise  of  it  all,  I  saw  Thiohero,  who  was 
some  little  distance  in  front  of  me,  reel  sideways  as  though  out 
o'  breath,  and  stand  still  near  a  beech  tree,  holding  her  scarlet 
blanket  against  her  body. 

When  I  came  up  to  her  she  was  leaning  against  the  tree, 
clutching  her  blanket  to  her  face  and  breast  with  both  hands. 
But  she  heard  me  and  lifted  her  head  from  the  gaily  coloured 
folds. 

"Hahyion — Royaneh!"  she  panted,  "this  was  your  battle.  .  .  . 
And  now — it  is  over  .  .  .  and  you  shall  live!  .  .  ." 

My  Oneidas  had  halted  and  were  looking  back  at  us.  And 
now  they  returned  rapidly  and  clustered  around  us. 

"Are  you  exhausted,  little  sister?"  I  demanded,  drawing  nearer. 
"Are  you  hurt " 

"Listen — my  brother  and — my  Captain!"  she  burst  out  breath- 
lessly. "This  was  the  battle  of  my  vision! — the  strange  uniforms 
— the  cannon-cloud — the  white  shape!  ...  I  saw  it  near  you 
where — where  you  stood  in  the  cannon  smoke! — a  shape  like  mist 
at  sunrise.  .  .  .  Haihee!  It  was  the  face  and  shape  of  the 
Caughnawaga  girl!  ...  It  was  Yellow  Hair  who  floated  there 
beside  you  in  the  cannon  smoke! — covered  to  her  eyes  in  white 
and  flowers " 

The  Little  Maid  of  Askalege  clutched  her  gay  blanket  closer 
to  her  breast  and  began  to  sway  gently  on  her  feet  as  though 
the  thumping  of  a  distant  partridge  were  a  witch-drum. 

"Haihya  Hahyion !"  she  whispered — "Thiohero  Oyaneh  salutes 
— her  Captain.  ...  I  speak — as  one  dying.  .  .  .  Haiee!  Haie — el 
Yellow  Hair  is — is  quite — a  witch! " 

Her  voice  failed;  down  on  her  knees  she  sank.  And,  as  I 
snatched  her  from  the  ground  and  lifted  her,  she  looked  up  into 
my  face  and  smiled.  Then,  in  a  long-drawn  sigh,  her  soul  es- 
caped between  my  arms  that  could  not  stay  its  flight  to  Tharon. 

Her  face  became  as  wax;  her  head  fell  forward  on  my  breast; 
her  eyes  rolled  upward.  And,  as  I  pressed  her  in  my  arms,  all 
my  body  grew  warm  and  wet  with  bright  blood  pouring  from 
her  softly  parted  lips. 


CHAPTEK  XXIX 

THE   WOOD   OF  BRAKABEEN 

IT  was  the  12th  day  of  August  when  we  came  again  to  the 
Wood  of  Brakabeen, — we  four  young  warriors  of  the  clan  of 
the  Little  Eed  Foot. 

We  were  ragged  and  bruised  and  weary,  and  starving;  but  the 
fierce  rage  burning  in  our  breasts  gave  to  each  a  strength  and 
purpose  that  nerved  our  briar-torn  and  battered  bodies  to  effort  in- 
exhaustible. 

Under  scattered  and  furtive  shots  from  German  muskets  we 
had  retreated  through  the  forest  with  our  dead  prophetess,  until 
night  ended  pursuit  by  the  chasseurs,  and  we  ourselves  had  lost 
our  direction. 

All  the  next  day  we  travelled  southwest  with  our  dead.  On 
the  tenth  day  we  came  out  on  Otsego  Lake,  near  to  Croghan's 
new  house. 

Where  he  had  cleared  the  bush  and  where  Indian  grass  was 
growing  as  tall  as  a  man's  head,  we  made  a  deep  grave.  And  here 
we  four  clansmen  buried  the  Little  Maid  of  Askalege;  and  sodded 
the  mound  with  wild  grasses  where  strawberries  grew,  and  blue 
asters  and  plumes  of  golden-rod. 

A  Canada  whitethroat  called  sweetly,  sadly,  from  the  forest 
in  the  sunset  glow.  We  made  for  the  grave  a  white  cross  of 
silver  birch.  We  placed  parched  corn  and  a  cup  of  water  at 
the  foot  of  the  cross;  and  her  bow  and  scarlet  arrows  against 
her  needs  where  deer,  God  willing,  should  be  plenty.  And  near 
these  we  set  her  little  moccasins  lest  in  that  unknown  land  her 
tender  feet  should  suffer  on  the  trail. 

In  the  morning  we  made  a  fire  of  ozier,  sweet-birch,  cherry 
wood,  and  samphire. 

When  the  aromatic  smoke  blew  over  us  I  rose  and  spoke.  After 
I  had  finished,  the  others  in  turn  rose  and  spoke  their  mind, 
saying  very  simply  what  was  in  their  hearts  concerning  their 
little  prophetess,  who  had  died  wearing  a  little  red  foot  painted 
on  her  body. 

309 


310  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

So  we  left  her  at  rest  under  the  wild  flowers  and  Indian  grass, 
near  to  Croghan's  empty  house,  with  a  vast  wilderness  around 
to  guard  the  sanctuary,  and  the  sad  whitethroats  to  mourn 
her. 

And  now,  fierce  and  starved  and  ragged,  we  came  once  more 
to  the  Wood  of  Brakabeen.  And  heard  McDonald's  guns  in  the 
valley  and  his  pibroch  on  the  hills. 

The  afternoon  was  still  and  hot,  the  deep  blue  sky  cloudless. 
Over  Vrooman's  Land  a  brown  smoke  hung;  more  smoke  was 
rising  above  Clyberg;  more  rolled  up  beyond  the  swampy  ground 
near  the  Flockey. 

From  the  edge  of  Brakabeen  Wood,  looking  out  over  the  val- 
ley, we  could  hear  firing  in  the  direction  of  Stone  House,  more 
musketry  toward  Fox  Creek. 

"McDonald  is  in  Schoharie,"  I  said  to  Tahioni.  "There  will 
be  many  dead  here,  women  and  children  and  the  grey-haired. 
Are  my  brothers  of  the  Little  Red  Foot  too  weary  to  strike?" 

The  young  Oneida  warrior  laughed.  I  looked  at  my  ragged 
comrades  where  they  crouched  in  their  frightful  paint,  .listening 
excitedly  to  the  distant  firing,  and  I  saw  their  lean  cheeks  twitch- 
ing and  their  nostrils  a-flare  as  they  scented  the  distant  fighting. 

The  wild  screaming  of  the  pibroch,  too,  seemed  to  madden 
them;  and  it  enraged  me,  also,  because  I  saw  that  Sir  John's 
Highlanders  were  here  with  McDonald's  fantastic  crew  and 
had  come  to  slaughter  us  all  with  their  dirks  and  broadswords  as 
they  had  threatened  before  Sir  John  fled  North. 

We  turned  to  the  left  and  I  led  my  Oneidas  in  a  file  through 
the  ferny  glades  of  Brakabeen  Wood,  and  amid  still  places  where 
clear  streams  ran  deep  in  greenest  moss;  where  tall  lilies  nodded 
their  yellow  Chinese  caps  in  the  flowery  swale;  where,  in  the 
demi-light  of  forest  aisles,  nothing  grew  save  the  great  trees 
bedded  there  since  the  dawn  of  time,  which  sprung  their  vast 
arches  high  above  us  to  support  their  glowing  tapestry  of 
leaves. 

It  was  mid-afternoon  when,  smelling  hot  smoke,  we  came  near 
the  woods  by  the  river;  and  saw,  close  to  us,  a  barn  afire,  and 
three  men  carrying  guns,  running  hither  and  thither  in  a  hay 
field  and  setting  every  stack  aflame  with  their  torches. 

One  o'  the  fellows  was  a  drummer  in  the  green  uniform  of 
Butler's  Rangers,  and  his  drum  was  slung  on  his  back.  And 
I  knew  him.  He  was  Michael  Reed  of  Fonda's  Bush,  and  cousin 
to  Nick  Stoner. 


THE  WOOD  OF  BRAKABEEN  311 

And  then,  to  my  astonishment  and  rage,  I  saw  Dries  Bowman 
in  his  farmer's  clothes;  and  the  other  man  was  a  huge  German 
— one  of  their  chasseurs,  who  wore  a  stiff  pig-tail  that  was 
greased,  and  a  black  mustache,  and  waist-high  spatterdashes — a 
very  barbarian  in  red  and  blue  and  green;  and  grunting  and 
puffing  as  he  ran  about  in  the  hot  sunshine  to  set  the  hay-cocks 
afire  with  his  torch. 

I  remember  giving  no  command;  we  sprang  out  of  the  woods, 
trailing  our  rifles  in  our  left  hands;  and  Bowman  fired  at  me 
and,  missing,  started  to  run;  but  I  got  him  by  his  collar  and 
knocked  him  over  with  my  gun-butt. 

The  Hessian  chasseur  instantly  drew  up  and  fired  in  our  di- 
rection; and  Tahioni  shot  him  dead  in  his  tracks,  where  he  fell 
heavily  on  his  back  and  lay  in  the  grass  with  limbs  outspread. 

"You  may  take  his  scalp!  I  care  not!"  shouted  I,  watching  my 
Oneidas,  who  had  got  at  Micky  Reed  and  were  striving  to  take 
him  alive  as  I  had  ordered. 

But  Reed  had  a  big  dragoon's  pistol  in  his  belt  and  would 
have  used  it  had  not  Kwiyeh  killed  him  swiftly  with  his  hatchet. 

But  I  would  not  permit  them  to  take  Reed's  scalp,  and  bade 
them  despoil  the  body  quickly  and  bring  the  leather  cross-belts 
and  girdle  to  me. 

Hanatoh  ran  up  and  caught  Dries  Bowman  by  the  collar; 
and  we  jerked  him  to  his  feet  and  dragged  and  hustled  him  into 
the  woods.  And  here  despoiled  him,  pulling  from  his  pockets  a 
Royal  Protection  and  a  bundle  of  papers,  which  revealed  him  as 
a  spy  sent  down  to  preach  treason  in  Schoharie  and  carry  what 
men  he  might  corrupt  as  recruits  to  McDonald  and  Sir  John. 

"That's  enough  to  hang  him !"  I  said  sharply  to  Tahioni.  "Link 
me  up  those  drummer's  cross-belts!" 

"What — what  do  you  mean,  John  Drogue!"  stammered  the 
wretch.  "Would  you  murder  an  old  neighbour?" 

"That  same  old  neighbour  would  have  murdered  me  at  Howell's 
house.  And  now  is  come  disguised  in  civilian  clothing  to  Scho- 
harie with  a  spy's  commission,  to  raise  the  district  in  arms 
against  us." 

"My  God!"  he  shrieked,  as  Tahioni  flung  the  leather  halter 
about  his  neck,  "is  it  a  crime  if  honest  men  stand  by  their 
King?" 

"Not  when  they  stand  out  in  plain  day  and  wear  a  red  coat  or 
a  green,"  said  I,  flinging  the  leather  halter  over  the  oak  tree's 
limb. 


312  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

Hanatoh  swiftly  pinioned  his  arms  and  tied  his  wrists ;  I  tossed 
the  halter's  end  to  Kwiyeh.  Tahioni  also  took  hold  of  it. 

"Hoist  that  spy!"  I  said  coldly.  And  in  a  second  more  his 
feet  were  kicking  some  half  dozen  inches  above  the  ground. 

My  Oneidas  fastened  the  halter  to  a  stout  bush;  I  was  shak- 
ing all  over  and  felt  sick  and  dizzy  to  hear  him  raling  and  chok- 
ing in  the  leather  noose  which  was  too  stiff  for  the  ghastly 
business. 

But  at  that  instant  Tahioni  shouted  a  shrill  warning;  I  looked 
over  my  shoulder  and  saw  a  great  number  of  soldiers  wearing 
red  patches  on  their  hats,  running  across  the  burning  hayfield  to 
surround  us. 

Yet  it  needed  better  men  than  McDonald's  to  take  me  and  my 
Oneidas  in  Brakabeen  Wood.  We  turned  and  plunged  into  the 
bush,  leaving  the  wretched  spy*  hanging  to  the  oak,  his  con- 
vulsed body  now  spinning  dizzily  round  and  round  above  the 
ground. 

Looking  back  as  I  ran,  I  soon  saw  that  the  men  who  were 
chasing  us  had  little  stomach  for  a  pursuit  which  must  pres- 
ently lead  to  bush-fighting.  They  shouted  and  halooed,  but 
lagged  as  they  arrived  at  the  denser  woods;  and  they  seemed  to 
have  no  officers  to  encourage  them,  or  if  they  indeed  possessed 
any  I  saw  none. 

Tahioni  came  fiercely  to  me,  where  I  had  halted,  to  watch  the 
red-patch  soldiers,  saying  that  we  had  now  been  out  thirteen 
days  and  had  taken  but  three  scalps.  He  said  that  to  hang  a 
man  was  not  a  proper  vengeance  to  atone  the  death  of  Thiohero; 
and  wanted  to  know  why  my  prisoners  should  not  be  delivered  to 
him  and  his  Oneida  comrades,  who  knew  how  to  punish  their 
enemies. 

Which  speech  so  angered  me  that  I  had  a  mind  to  take  him 
by  the  throat.  Only  the  sudden  memory  of  our  Red  Foot  clan- 
ship, and  of  Thiohero,  deterred  me.  Also,  that  was  no  way  to 
treat  any  Indian;  and  to  lose  my  self-control  was  to  lose  the 
Oneidas'  respect  and  my  authority  over  them. 

"My  brother,  Tahioni,"  said  I  coldly,  "should  not  forget  that 
he  is  my  younger  brother. 

"If  Tahioni   were   older,   and  possessed   of  more  wisdom   and 

*  The  historian,  J.  R.  Simms,  says  that  Benjamin  De  Luysnes  and  his  party 
strung  up  Dries  Bowman,  and  then  cut  him  down  and  let  him  go  with  a 
warning.  Simms  also  gives  a  different  date  to  this  affair.  At  all  events,  it 
seems  that  Bowman  was  cut  down  in  time  to  save  his  life.  Simms,  by  the 
way,  spells  De  Luysnes'  name  De  Line.  Campbell  mentions  Captain  Stephen 
Watts  as  Major  Stephen  Watson.  We  all  commit  error. 


THE  WOOD  OF  BRAKABEEN  313 

experience,  lie  would  know  that  unless  a  chief  asks  opinions  none 
should  be  offered." 

The  youth's  eyes  flashed  at  me  and  he  stiffened  under  a  re- 
buke that  is  hard  for  any  Iroquois  to  swallow. 

"My  younger  brother,"  said  I,  "ought  to  know  that  I  am  not 
like  an  officer  of  Guy  Johnson's  Indian  Department,  who  de- 
livers prisoners  to  the  Mohawks.  I  deliver  no  prisoner  to  any 
Indian.  I  obey  my  orders,  and  expect  my  Indians  to  obey  mine. 
They  are  free  always  to  take  Indian  scalps.  The  scalps  of  white 
men  they  take  only  if  permitted  by  me." 

Tahioni  hung  his  head,  the  Screech-owl  and  the  Water-snake 
nodded  emphatic  assent. 

"Yonder,"  said  I,  "are  the  red-patch  soldiers.  They  are  Tory 
marauders  and  outlaws.  If  you  can  ambush  and  cut  off  any  of 
them,  do  so.  And  I  care  not  if  you  scalp  them,  either.  But 
if  any  are  taken  I  shall  not  deliver  them  to  any  Oneida  fire. 
No  prisoner  of  this  flying  scout  shall  burn." 

The  Water-snake  twitched  my  sleeve  timidly. 

"Hahyion,"  he  said,  "we  obey.  But  an  Iroquois  prefers  the 
fire  and  torment  to  the  noose.  Because  he  can  sing  his  death 
songs  and  laugh  at  his  enemies  through  the  flames.  But  what 
man  can  sing  or  boast  when  a  rope  chokes  his  speech  in  his 
throat?" 

I  scarcely  heeded  him,  for  I  was  watching  the  red-patch  sol- 
diers, who  now  were  leaving  the  woods  and  crossing  the  hay- 
field,  which  still  was  smoking  where  the  fire  made  velvet-black 
patches  in  the  dry  grass. 

The  barn  had  fallen  in  and  was  only  a  great  heap  of  glowing 
coals,  over  which  a  pale  flame  played  in  the  late  afternoon  sun- 
shine. 

Listening  and  looking  after  the  red-patches,  I  heard  very  dis- 
tinctly the  sound  of  guns  in  the  direction  of  Stone  House. 

Now,  while  it  was  none  of  my  business  to  hang  on  McDonald's 
flanks  for  prisoners  and  scalps,  it  was  my  business  to  observe  him 
and  what  he  might  be  about  in  Schoharie;  and  to  carry  this 
news  to  Saratoga  by  way  of  Johnstown,  along  with  my  budget 
concerning  Stanwix  and  St.  Leger. 

Besides,  Stone  House  lay  on  my  way.  So  I  signalled  my  In- 
dians and  started  west.  And  it  was  not  very  long  before  we 
came  upon  two  Schoharie  militia-men  whom  I  knew,  Jacob 
Enders  and  George  Warner,  who  took  to  a  tree  when  they  discov- 
ered my  Oneidas  in  their  paint,  but  came  out  when  I  called  them 
by  name,  and  gave  an  account  that  they  were  hunting  a  notori- 


314  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

cms  Tory, — a  renegade  and  late  officer  in  the  Schoharie  Regi- 
ment,— a  certain  George  Mann,  a  captain,  who  would  have  car- 
ried his  entire  company  to  McDonald,  but  was  surprised  in  his 
villainy  and  had  fled  to  the  woods  near  Fox  Creek. 

I  told  them  that  we  had  not  seen  this  fellow,  and  asked  for 
news;  and  Warner  showed  me  a  scalp  which  he  said  he  took  an 
hour  ago  from  Ogeyonda,  after  shooting  that  treacherous  savage 
at  the  Flockey. 

He  gave  it  to  Tahioni,  which  pleased  the  Oneida  mightily  and 
contented  me;  for  I  hate  to  see  any  white  man  take  a  scalp, 
though  Tim  Murphy  and  Dave  Elerson  took  them  as  coolly  as 
they  took  any  other  peltry. 

Warner  said  that  McDonald  was  up  the  valley,  murdering  and 
burning  his  way  westward;  that  cavalry  from  Albany  had  just 
arrived,  had  raided  Brick  House  and  taken  prisoner  a  lot  of  red- 
patch  militia,  forced  them  to  tear  up  their  Royal  Protections,  tiecl 
up  the  most  obnoxious,  and  kicked  out  the  remainder  with  a 
warning. 

He  said,  further,  that  Adam  Crysler  and  Joseph  Brown,  of 
Clyberg,  were  great  villains  and  had  joined  McDonald  with  Billy 
Zimmer  and  others;  and  that  McDonald  had  a  motley  army,  full 
of  kilted  Highlanders,  chasseurs,  red-patches,  Indians,  and 
painted  Tories;  and  that  the  cavalry  from  Albany  were  march- 
ing to  meet  them,  reinforced  by  Schoharie  mounted-militia  under 
Colonel  Harper. 

And  now,  even  as  Warner  was  still  speaking,  we  heard  the 
trumpet  of  the  cavalry  on  the  river  road  below;  and,  running  out 
to  the  forest's  edge,  we  saw  the  Albany  Riders  marching  up  the 
river, — two  hundred  horsemen  in  bright  new  helmets  and  uni- 
forms, finely  horsed,  their  naked  sabers  all  glittering  in  the  sun, 
and  their  trumpeter  trotting  ahead  on  a  handsome  white  charger. 

The  horses,  four  abreast,  were  at  a  fast  walk;  flankers  gal- 
loped ahead  on  either  wing.  And,  as  we  hurried  down  to  the 
road,  an  officer  I  knew,  Lieutenant  Wirt,  came  spurring  forward 
to  meet  and  question  us,  followed  by  two  troopers, — one  named 
Rose  and  the  other  was  Jake  Van  Dyck,  whom  I  also  recognized. 

"Jack  Drogue,  by  all  the  gods  of  war!"  cried  the  handsome 
lieutenant,  as  I  saluted  and  spoke  to  him  by  name. 

"Dave  Wirt!"  I  exclaimed,  offering  my  hand,  which  he  grasped, 
leaning  wide  from  his  saddle. 

He  turned  his  mount  toward  the  road  again,  and  I  and  my 
Oneidas  walked  along  beside  him. 

"Are  those  your  tame  panthers?"  he  demanded,  pointing  toward 


THE  WOOD  OF  BRAKABEBN  315 

my  Oneidas  with  his  sword.  "If  they  are,  then  we  should  have 
agreeable  work  for  them  and  for  you,  Jack  Drogue.  For  Yrooman 
and  his  men  are  in  Stone  House  and  the  red-patches  fire  on  them 
whenever  they  show  a  head;  and  our  cavalry  are  like  to  strike 
McDonald  at  any  moment  now.  We  caught  two  of  his  damned 
spies " 

At  that  instant,  far  down  the  road  I  saw  a  woman;  and  even 
at  that  distance  I  recognized  her. 

"Yonder  walks  a  bad  citizen,"  said  I  sharply.  "That  is  Madame 
Staats !" 

We  had  now  arrived  beside  the  moving  column  of  riders;  and, 
as  I  spoke,  a  dozen  cavalrymen  shouted:  "Here  comes  Rya's 
Pup!" 

A  captain  of  cavalry  who  spoke  English  with  a  French  accent 
shouted  to  the  Pup  and  beckoned  her;  but  she  turned  and  ran 
the  other  way. 

Immediately  two  troopers  spurred  after  her  and  caught  her 
as  she  was  fording  the  river;  and  each  seized  her  by  a  hand, 
turned  their  horses,  and  trotted  back  to  us  with  their  prisoner, 
amid  shouts  of  laughter. 

Rya's  Pup,  breathless  from  her  enforced  run,  fairly  spat  at 
us  in  her  fury,  cursing  and  threatening  and  holding  her  panting 
flanks  in  turn. 

"You  dirty  rebel  dogs!"  she  screamed,  "wait  till  McDonald 
catches  you!  Ah — there'll  be  blood  enow  for  you  all  to  wade  in 
as  I  waded  in  the  river  yonder,  when  your  filthy  cavalry  head- 
ed me!" 

Wirt  tried  to  question  her,  but  she  mocked  us  all,  boasted 
that  McDonald  had  a  huge  army  at  the  Flockey,  and  that  he  was 
now  on  his  way  to  Stone  House  to  destroy  us  all. 

"Turn  that  slut  loose!"  said  the  Captain  sharply. 

So  we  let  go  the  Pup,  and  she  turned  and  legged  it,  yelling 
her  scorn  and  fury  as  she  ran;  and  we  saw  her  go  floundering 
and  splashing  across  the  river,  doubtless  to  carry  news  of  us  to 
McDonald. 

And  it  contented  us  that  she  so  do,  because  now  we  came  upon 
Stone  House,  where  the  small  garrison  under  a  Lieutenant  Wal- 
lace had  ventured  out  and  were  a-digging  of  a  ditch  and  piling 
fence  rails  across  the  road  to  stop  McDonald's  riders  in  a  charge. 

Here,  also,  were  Harper's  mounted  militia,  sitting  their  saddles, 
poorly  armed  with  militia  fire-locks. 

But  we  had  a  respectable  force  and  were  ashamed  to  await 
the  outlaws  behind  ditch  and  rail;  so  we  marched  on  through 


316  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

the  gathering  dusk  to  a  house  about  two  miles  further,  where 
a  dozen  strangely  painted  horsemen  galloped  away  as  we  ap- 
proached. 

A  yell  of  rage  at  sight  of  those  blue-eyed  Indians  arose  from 
our  riders.  Our  trumpet  sounded;  the  cavalry  broke  into  a 
gallop. 

It  was  now  twilight. 

I  begged  some  mounted  militia-men  to  take  me  and  my  Oneidaa 
up  behind  them;  and  they  were  obliging  enough  to  do  so;  and 
•we  jogged  away  into  the  rosy  dusk  of  an  August  evening. 

Almost  immediately  I  saw  the  Flockey  ahead,  and  Adam 
Crysler's  house  on  the  bank;  and  on  the  lawn  in  front  of  it  I  saw 
McDonald's  grotesque  legion  drawn  up  in  line  of  battle. 

As  I  came  up  our  cavalry  was  forming  to  charge;  Lieutenant 
Wirt  had  just  turned  in  his  saddle  to  speak  to  me,  when  one  of 
the  outlaws  ran  out  to  the  edge  of  the  lawn  and  called  across 
the  road  to  Wirt  that  he  should  never  live  to  marry  Angelica 
Vrooman,*  but  would  die  a  dog's  death  as  he  deserved. 

As  the  cavalry  charged,  Wirt  rode  directly  at  this  man,  who 
coolly  shot  him  out  of  his  saddle. 

I  saw  and  recognized  the  outlaw,  who  was  a  Tory  named 
Shafer. 

As  Wirt  fell  to  the  grass,  stone  dead,  his  horse  knocked  down 
Shafer.  The  Tory  got  up,  streaming  with  blood  but  not  badly 
hurt,  and,  clubbing  his  piece,  attempted  to  dash  out  Wirt's  dead 
brains;  but  Trooper  Rose  swung  his  horse  violently  against 
Shafer,  sabred  him,  and,  in  turn,  fell  from  his  own  saddle,  fatally 
wounded. 

Another  trooper  dismounted  to  pick  up  poor  Rose,  who  was 
in  a  bad  way,  but  one  of  McDonald's  painted  Tories  fired  on 
them  and  both  fell. 

I  fired  at  this  man  and  wounded  him,  and  Tahioni  chased  him, 
caught  him,  and  slew  him  by  the  fence. 

Then,  above  the  turmoil  of  horses  and  gun-shots,  the  Oneida's 
terrific  scalp-yell  rang  out  in  the  deepening  dusk ;  and  at  that  dread 
panther-cry  a  panic  seemed  to  seize  McDonald's  men,  for  their 
grotesque  riders  suddenly  whirled  their  horses  and  stampeded 
ventre-a-terre,  riding  westward  like  damned  men;  and  I  saw  their 
Highlanders  and  Chasseurs  and  renegade  Greens  break  and 
scatter  into  the  forest  on  every  side,  melting  away  into  the  night 
before  our  eyes. 

*  Angelica  Vrooman  sewed  the  winding  sheet  for  Lieutenant  Wirt'f  bodyt 


THE  WOOD  OF  BRAKABEEN  317 

Into  the  brush  leaped  my  Oneidas;  their  war-yells  awoke  the 
shuddering  echoes  of  Brakabeen  Wood.  I  saw  a  chasseur  leap  a 
rail  fence,  stumble,  and  fall  with  the  Screech-owl  on  top  of  him. 
Again  the  awful  Oneida  scalp-yelp  rang  out  under  the  first  dim 
stars. 

The  cavalry  returned  and  camped  at  Stone  House  that  night. 
They  brought  in  their  dead  by  torch-light;  and  I  saw  Wirt's 
body  borne  on  a  stretcher,  and  the  corpse  of  Trooper  Kose,  and 
others. 

One  by  one  my  Oneidas  returned  like  blood-slaked  and  weary 
hounds.  All  had  taken  scalps,  and  sat  late  at  our  fire  to  hoop 
and  stretch  them,  and  neatly  plait  the  miserable  dead  hair  that 
hung  all  draggled  from  the  pitiful  shreds  of  skin. 

At  a  cavalry  watch-fire  near  to  ours  were  also  some  people 
I  knew — Mayfield  men  of  a  scout  of  six,  just  come  in;  and  I 
went  over  to  their  fire  and  greeted  them  and  questioned  them 
concerning  news  from  home. 

Truman  Christie  was  their  lieutenant;  Sol  and  Seely  Wood- 
worth,  the  two  Reynolds,  and  Billy  Dunham  composed  the  scout; 
and  all  were  in  rifle-dress  and  keen  to  try  their  rifles  on  Mc- 
Donald, but  were  arrived  too  late,  and  feared  now  that  the  outlaws 
were  on  their  way  to  Canada. 

Christie  told  me  that  the  alarm  in  Johnstown  and  at  Mayfield 
was  great;  that  hostile  Indians  had  been  seen  near  Tribes  Hill, 
and  had  killed  a  farmer  there;  that  some  people  were  leaving 
Caughnawaga  and  moving  their  household  goods  down  the  river 
to  Schenectady. 

<(By  God,"  says  he,  "and  I  don't  blame  'em,  John  Drogue  I  No  1 
For  a  Mohawk  war  party  is  like  to  strike  Caughnawaga  at  any 
hour;  and  why  foolish  folk,  like  old  Douw  Fonda,  remain  there 
is  beyond  my  comprehension." 

"Douw  Fonda!"  said  I,  astonished.  "Why,  he  is  gone  to 
Albany." 

"He  came  back  a  week  ago,"  says  Christie.  "They  tell  me 
that  the  young  Patroon  tried  to  dissuade  the  old  gentleman  from 
going,  but  could  do  nothing  with  him — Mr.  Fonda  being  childish 
and  obstinate — and  so  he  had  his  way  and  summoned  his  coach 
and  his  three  niggers  and  drove  in  state  up  the  river  to  Caughna- 
waga. We  passed  that  way  on  scout,  and  I  saw  the  old  gentle- 
man two  days  ago  sitting  on  his  porch  with  his  gold-headed  walk- 
ing stick  and  his  book,  and  dozing  there  in  the  sun;  and  the 
yellow-haired  girl  knitting  at  his  feet " 


318  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

"What!" 

He  looked  at  me,  startled  by  my  vehemence. 

"Sir,"  said  he,  "did  I  say  aught  to  offend  you  ?" 

"Good  God,  no.  You  say  that  the — the  yellow-haired  girl, 
Penelope  Grant,  is  at  Caughnawaga  with  Douw  Fonda!" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Did  you  see  her?" 

"I  did;  and  spoke  with  her." 

"What  did  she  say  ?"  I  asked  unsteadily. 

"She  said  that  Mr.  Fonda  had  sent  a  negro  servant  to  Johns- 
town to  fetch  her,  because,  having  returned  to  Caughnawaga,  ho 
needed  her." 

"I  think  Mr.  Fonda's  three  sons  and  their  families  must  all 
be  mad  to  permit  the  old  gentleman  to  come  to  Caughnawaga 
in  such  perilous  times  as  these!"  I  said  sharply. 

"And  so  do  I  think  likewise,"  rejoined  Christie.  "Let  them 
think  and  say  what  they  like,  but,  Mr.  Drogue,  I  am  an  old  Indian 
fighter  and  have  served  under  Colonel  Glaus  and  Sir  William 
Johnson.  I  know  the  Iroquois;  I  know  their  ways  and  wilea 
and  craft  and  subtle  designs;  and  I  know  how  they  think,  and 
what  they  are  most  likely  to  do. 

"And  I  say  to  you  very  solemnly,  Mr.  Drogue,  that  were  I 
Joseph  Brant  I  would  strike  Caughnawaga  before  snow  flies.  And, 
sir,  under  God,  it  is  my  honest  belief  that  he  will  do  exactly  that 
very  thing.  And  it  will  be  a  sorry  business  for  the  Valley  when 
he  does  so!" 

It  was  a  dreadful  thing  for  me  to  hear  this  veteran  affirm  what 
I  myself  already  feared. 

But  I  had  never  dreamed  that  the  aged  Douw  Fonda  would 
return  to  Caughnawaga,  or  that  his  sons  would  permit  the  ob- 
stinate, helpless,  and  childish  old  gentleman  to  so  have  his  say 
and  way  in  times  like  these. 

Nor  did  I  dream  that  Penelope  would  go  to  him  again.  I  knew, 
of  course,  that  she  would  surely  go  if  he  asked  for  her;  but 
thought  he  had  too  completely  forgotten  her — as  the  Patroon 
wrote — and  that  his  childishness  and  feeble  memory  no  longer 
retained  any  remembrance  of  the  young  girl  he  had  loved  and 
had  offered  to  adopt  and  to  make  his  legatee. 

The  news  that  Captain  Christie  brought  was  truly  dismal  news 
for  me  and  most  alarming. 

What  on  earth  I  could  do  about  it  I  had  no  idea.  Penelope, 
the  soul  of  loyalty,  believed  that  her  duty  lay  with  Mr.  Fonda, 
and  that,  if  he  asked  for  her,  she  must  go  and  care  for  him, 


THE  WOOD  OF  BRAKABEEN  319 

who  had  been  to  her  a  father  when  she  was  poor,  shelterless,  and 
alone. 

I  realized  that  no  argument,  no  plea  of  mine  could  move  her 
to  abandon  him  now.  And  what  logic  could  I  employ  to  arouse 
this  childish  and  obstinate  old  gentleman  to  any  apprehension 
of  his  own  peril  or  hers? 

To  think  of  it  madded  me,  because  Mr.  Fonda  had  three  wealthy 
sons  living  near  him,  who  could  care  for  him  properly  with  their 
ample  means  and  all  their  servants  and  slaves.  And  why  in 
God's  name  Captain  John  Fonda,  Major  Jelles  Fonda,  or  Major 
Adam  Fonda  did  not  take  some  means  of  moving  themselves  and 
their  families  into  the  Queens  Fort,  or,  better  still,  into  Albany, 
I  can  not  comprehend. 

But  it  was  a  fact,  as  Christie  related  to  me,  that  scarce  a 
soul  had  fled  from  Caughnawaga.  All  the  landed  gentry  re- 
mained; all  people  of  high  or  low  degree  were  still  there — folk 
like  the  Veeders,  Sammons,  Romeyns,  Hansens,  Yates,  Putmans, 
Stevens,  Fishers,  Gaults. 

That  night  my  dreams  were  horrible:  I  seemed  to  see  Dries 
Bowman's  body  spinning  in  the  sunshine,  whilst  he  darted  his 
swollen  tongue  at  me  like  a  snake.  And  always  I  seemed  all  wet 
with  blood  and  could  not  dry  myself  or  escape  the  convulsed  em- 
brace of  the  Little  Maid  of  Askalege. 

Moaning,  waking  with  a  cry  on  my  lips  to  gaze  on  the  red 
embers  of  our  fire  and  see  my  Indians  stir  under  their  blankets 
and  open  slitted  eyes  at  me — or  to  lie  exhausted  in  body  and  all 
trembling  in  my  thoughts,  while  the  slow,  dark  hours  dragged  to 
the  dead  march  beating  in  my  heart — thus  passed  the  night  at 
Stone  House,  full  of  visions  of  the  dead. 

Long  ere  the  cavalry  trumpet  pealed  and  the  tired  troopers 
awakened  after  near  fifty  miles  of  riding  the  day  before,  I  had 
dragged  my  weary  Indians  from  their  sleep;  and  almost  im- 
mediately we  were  on  our  way,  eating  a  pinch  of  salted  corn 
from  the  palms  of  our  hands  as  we  moved  forward.  For,  after 
a  brief  ceremony  in  the  Wood  of  Brakabeen,  I  meant  to  make 
Johnstown  without  a  halt.  My  mind  was  full  of  anxiety  for 
Caughnawaga,  and  for  her  who  had  promised  herself  to  me  when 
again  I  should  come  to  seek  her. 

But  first  we  must  halt  in  the  Wood  of  Brakabeen  to  fulfill 
in  ceremony  that  office  due  to  the  memory  of  a  brave  and  faith- 
ful Oneida  warrior — our  little  Maid  of  Askalege. 

It  was  not  yet  dawn,  and  the  glades  of  Brakabeen  Wood  were 


320  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

dark  and  still;  and  on  the  ferns  and  grasses  rested  myriads  of 
fireflies,  all  pulsating  with  faint  phosphorescence. 

I  thought  of  Thiohero  as  I  had  beheld  her  in  this  glade,  swaying 
on  her  slender  feet  amid  a  dizzy  whirl  of  fireflies. 

Tahioni  had  gathered  a  dry  faggot;  Kwiyeh  carried  a  bundle 
of  cherry-birch,  samphire,  and  witch-hopple.  The  Water-snake 
laid  the  fire. 

All  seated  themselves;  I  struck  flint,  blew  the  tinder  to  a  coal, 
and  lighted  a  silver  birch-shred. 

The  scented  smoke  mounted  straight  up  through  the  trees; 
I  rose  in  silence;  and  when  the  first  burning  stick  fell  into  soft 
white  ashes,  I  took  a  few  flakes  in  my  palm  and  rubbed  them 
across  my  forehead.  Then  I  spoke,  facing  the  locked  gates  of 
morning  in  the  dark: 

"Now — now  I  hear  your  voice  coming  to  us  through  the  forest 
in  the  night. 

"Now  our  hearts  are  heavy,  little  sister.  The  gates  of  morning 
are  still  locked;  the  forest  is  still;  everywhere  there  is  thick 
darkness. 

"Thiohero,  listen! 

"Now  we  Oneidas  are  depressed  in  our  minds.  You  were  a 
prophetess.  You  foretold  events.  You  were  a  warrior.  We  were 
your  clansmen  of  the  Little  Red  Foot.  You  were  a  sorceress. 
Empty  moccasins  danced  when  you  touched  the  witch-drum. 
Now,  in  white  plumes,  you  have  mounted  to  the  stars  like  morning 
mist. 

"Oyaneh!     Continue  to  listen. 

"Our  lodge  is  empty  without  you.  Our  fire  is  lonely  without 
you.  Our  hearts  are  desolate,  O  Thiohero  Oyaneh! 

"Little  Sister,  continue  to  listen! 

"We  have  heard  your  voice  at  this  hour  coming  to  us  through 
the  Wood  of  Brakabeen.  It  comes  in  darkness  like  light  when 
the  gates  of  morning  open. 

"Thiohero  Oyaneh,  virgin  warrior  of  the  People  of  the  Rock, 
we  are  come  to  the  Wood  of  Brakabeen  to  greet  and  thank  you. 

"We  give  you  gratitude  and  love.  You  were  a  warrior  and 
wore  the  Little  Red  Foot.  You  struck  your  enemies  where  you 
found  them.  They  are  dead  and  without  scalps,  your  enemies. 
The  Canienga  howl.  Your  war-axe  sticks  in  their  heads.  The 
Hessians  are  swine.  Your  scarlet  arrows  turn  them  into  porcu- 
pines. The  green-coats  flee  and  your  bullets  burn  their  bowels. 

"0  my  little  sister,  listen  now! 

"Our  trail  is  very  lonely  without  you.     We  are  dejected.     We 


THE  WOOD  OF  BBAKABEEN  321 

move  like  old  men  and  sick.  We  need  your  wisdom.  We  are  less 
•wise  than  those  littlest  ones  still  strapped  to  the  cradle  board. 

"Thiohero! 

"We  have  placed  food  and  a  cup  of  water  for  you  lest  you  hunger 
and  thirst. 

"We  have  laid  a  bow  and  scarlet  arrows  near  you  so  that  you 
shall  hunt  when  you  wish. 

"We  have  given  you  moccasins  so  that  the  strange,  bright  trail 
shall  not  hurt  your  feet. 

"We  have  placed  paint  for  you  so  that  Tharon  shall  know  you 
by  your  clan.  And  we  have  made  for  your  grave  a  cross  of 
silver-birch,  so  that  our  white  Lord  Christ  shall  meet  you  and 
take  you  by  the  hand  in  a  land  so  new  and  strange. 

"Oyaneh! 

"We  have  said  what  is  in  our  hearts  and  minds.  We  think 
that  is  all  we  have  to  say.  We  turn  our  eyes  to  the  morning. 
When  the  gates  open  we  shall  depart." 

As  I  ended,  the  three  Oneidas  rose  and  faced  the  east  in 
silence.  All  the  sky  had  become  golden.  Minute  after  minute 
passed.  Suddenly  a  blinding  lance  of  light  pierced  the  Wood  of 
Brakabeen. 

"Haih!"  they  exclaimed  softly.     "Nai  Thiohero  Oyaneh!" 

Tahioni  covered  the  fire.  The  Screech-owl  marked  us  all  with 
a  coal  still  warm. 

Then,  in  silence,  I  led  my  people  from  the  misty  Wood  «f 
Brakabeen. 


CHAPTEK  XXX 

A  LONG   GOOD-BYE 

ON  the  evening  of  the  15th  of  August,  the  Commandant  of 
Johnstown  Fort  stood  aghast  to  see  a  forest-running  raga- 
muffin and  three  scarecrow  Indians  stagger  into  headquarters,  at 
the  jail. 

"Gad  a-mercy!"  says  he  as  I  offered  the  salute,  "is  it  you,  Mr. 
Drogue!" 

I  was  past  all  speech;  for  we  had  wolf -jogged  all  the  way  up 
from  the  river,  but  from  my  rags  I  fished  out  my  filthy  papers 
and  thrust  them  at  him.  He  was  kind  enough  to  ask  me  to  sit; 
I  nodded  a  like  permission  to  my  Oneidas  and  dropped  onto  a 
settle;  a  sergeant  fetched  new-baked  bread,  meat,  buttermilk,  and 
pipes  for  my  Indians;  and  for  me  a  draught  of  summer  cider, 
•which  presently  I  swallowed  to  the  dregs  when  I  found  strength 
to  do  it. 

This  refreshed  me.  I  asked  permission  to  lodge  my  Oneidas 
in  some  convenient  barn  and  to  draw  for  them  food,  pay,  tobacco, 
and  clothing;  and  very  soon  a  corporal  of  Continentals  arrived 
•with  a  lantern  and  led  the  Oneidas  out  into  the  night. 

Then,  at  the  Commandant's  request,  I  gave  a  verbal  account 
of  my  scout,  and  reminded  him  of  my  instructions,  which  were  to 
report  at  Saratoga. 

But  he  merely  shuffled  my  papers  together  and  smiled,  saying1 
that  he  would  attend  to  that  matter,  and  that  there  were  new 
orders  lately  arrived  for  me,  and  a  sheaf  of  letters,  among  which 
two  had  been  sent  in  with  a  flag,  and  seals  broken. 

"Sir,"  he  said,  still  smiling  in  kindly  fashion,  "I  have  every 
reason  to  believe  that  patriotic  service  faithfully  performed 
is  not  to  remain  too  long  unrecognized  at  Albany.  And  this 
business  of  yours  amounts  to  that,  Mr.  Drogue." 

He  laughed  and  rubbed  his  powerful  hands  together,  peering 
good-humouredly  at  me  out  of  a  pair  of  small  and  piercing  eyes. 

"However,"  he  added,  "all  this  is  for  you  to  learn  from  others 
in  higher  places  than  I  occupy.  Here  are  your  letters,  Mr. 
Drogue." 

He  laid  his  hand  on  a  sheaf  which  lay  near  his  elbow  on  the 

300 
ii& 


A  LONG  GOOD-BYE  323 

table  and  Landed  them  to  me.  They  were  tied  together  with 
tape  which  had  been  sealed. 

"Sir,"  said  he,  "y°u  are  in  &  woeful  plight  for  lack  of  sleep; 
and  I  should  not  detain  you.  You  lodge,  I  think,  at  Burke's 
Tavern.  Pray,  sir,  retire  to  your  quarters  at  your  convenience, 
and  dispose  of  well-earned  leisure  as  best  suits  you." 

He  rose,  and  I  got  stiffly  to  my  feet. 

"Your  Indians  shall  have  every  consideration,"  said  he.  "And 
I  dare  guess,  sir,  that  you  are  destined  to  discover  at  the  Tavern 
news  that  should  pleasure  you." 

We  saluted;  I  thanked  him  for  his  kind  usage,  and  took  my 
leave,  so  weary  that  I  scarce  knew  what  I  was  about. 

How  I  arrived  at  the  Tavern  without  falling  asleep  on  my  two 
legs  as  I  walked,  I  do  not  know.  Jimmy  Burke,  who  had  come  out 
with  a  light  to  greet  me,  lifted  his  hands  to  heaven  at  sight  of  me. 

"John  Drogue!  Is  it  yourself,  avic?  Ochone,  the  poor  lad  I 
Wirra  the  day!"  says  he,  — "and  luk  at  him  in  his  rags  and  thin 
as  a  clapperrail !"  And,  "Magda!  Betty!"  he  shouts,  "fr  the  sake 
o'  the  saints,  run  fetch  a  wash-tub  above,  an'  b'ilin'  wather  in  a 
can,  and  soft-soap,  too,  an'  a-bite-an'-a-sup,  or  himself  will  die 
on  me  two  hands " 

I  heard  maids  running  as  I  climbed  the  stairway,  gripping 
at  the  rail  to  steady  me.  I  was  asleep  in  my  chair  when  some  one 
shook  me. 

Blindly  I  pulled  the  dirty  rags  from  my  body  and  let  them  fall 
anywhere;  and  I  near  died  o'  drowning  in  the  great  steaming 
tub,  for  twice  I  fell  asleep  in  the  bath.  I  know  not  who  pulled 
me  out.  I  do  not  remember  eating.  They  say  I  did  eat.  Nor 
can  I  recollect  how,  at  last,  I  got  me  into  bed. 

I  was  still  deeply  asleep  when  Burke  awoke  me.  He  had  a 
great  bowl  of  smoking  soupaan  and  a  pitcher  of  sweet  milk;  and 
I  ate  and  drank,  still  half  asleep.  But  now  the  breeze  from  the 
open  window  and  the  sunshine  in  my  room  slowly  cleared  my 
battered  senses.  I  began  to  remember  where  I  was,  and  to  look 
about  the  room. 

Mine  was  the  only  bed;  and  there  was  nobody  lying  in  it  save 
only  myself,  yet  it  was  evident  that  another  gentleman  shared 
this  room  with  me;  for  yonder,  on  a  ladder-back  chair,  lay  some- 
body's clothing  neatly  folded, — a  Continental  officer's  uniform,  on, 
which  I  perceived  the  insignia  of  a  staff-captain. 

Spurred  boots  also  stood  there,  and  a  smartly  cocked  hat. 

And  now,  on  a  peg  in  the  wall,  I  discovered  this  unknown- 
officer's  watch-coat,  and  his  sword  dangling  by  it,  and  a  brace  or 
pistols. 


324  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

But  where  the  devil  the  owner  of  these  implements  might  be 
I  could  not  guess. 

And  now  my  eyes  fell  upon  the  sheaf  of  letters  lying  on  the 
table  beside  me.  I  broke  the  sealed  tape  that  bound  them;  they 
fell  upon  the  bed  clothes;  and  I  picked  up  the  first  at  hazard, 
which  was  a  packet,  and  broke  the  seal  of  it.  And  sat  there  in 
my  night  shift,  utterly  astounded  at  what  I  beheld. 

For  within  the  packet  were  two  papers.  One  was  a  captain's 
commission  in  the  Continental  Line;  and  my  own  name  was  writ 
upon  it. 

And  the  other  paper  was  a  letter,  sent  express  from  the  Forest 
of  Dean,  five  days  since,  and  it  was  from  Major  General  Lord 
Stirling  to  me,  acquainting  me  that  he  had  taken  the  liberty 
to  request  a  captain's  commission  in  the  Line  for  me;  that  His 
Excellency  had  concurred  in  the  request;  that  a  commission  had 
been  duly  granted  and  issued;  and  that — His  Excellency  still 
graciously  concurring  and  General  Schuyler  endorsing  the  re- 
quest— I  had  been  transferred  from  the  State  Hangers  to  the 
Line,  and  from  the  Line  to  the  military  family  of  General  Lord 
Stirling.  And  should  report  to  him  at  the  Forest  of  Dean. 

To  this  elegant  and  formal  and  amazing  letter,  writ  by  a 
secretary  and  signed  by  my  Lord  Stirling,  was  appended  in  his 
own  familiar  hand  this  postscript: 

"Jack  Drogue  will  not  refuse  his  old  friend,  Billy  Alexander. 
So  for  God's  sake  leave  your  rifle-shirt  and  moccasins  in  Johns- 
town and  put  on  the  clothing  which  I  have  bespoken  of  the  same 
Johnstown  tailoress  who  made  your  forest  dress  and  mine  when 
in  happier  days  we  hunted  and  fished  with  Sir  William  in  the 
pleasant  forests  of  Fonda's  Bush." 

I  sat  there  quite  overcome,  gazing  now  upon  my  commission, 
now  upon  my  friend's  kind  letter,  now  at  my  beautiful  new 
uniform  which  his  consideration  had  procured  for  me  while  I 
was  wandering  leagues  away  in  the  Northern  bush,  never  dream- 
ing that  a  celebrated  Major  General  had  time  to  waste  on  any 
thought  concerning  me. 

There  was  a  bell-rope  near  my  bed,  and  now  I  pulled  it,  and 
said  to  the  buxom  wench  who  came  that  I  desired  a  barber  to 
trim  me  instantly,  and  that  the  pot-boy  should  run  and  fetch  him 
and  bid  him  bring  his  irons  and  powder  and  an  assortment  of 
queue  ribbons  for  a  club. 

The  barber  arrived  as  I,  having  bathed  me,  was  dressing  in 
fresh  underwear  which  I  found  rolled  snug  in  the  pack  I  had 
left  here  when  I  went  away. 


A  LONG  GOOD-BYE  325 

Lord,  but  my  beard  and  hair  were  like  Orson's;  and  I  gave 
myself  to  the  razor  with  great  content;  and  later  to  the  shears, 
bidding  young  Master  Snips  shape  my  pol  for  a  club  and  powder 
in  the  most  fashionable  and  military  mode  then  acceptable  to 
the  service. 

Which  he  swore  he  knew  how  to  accomplish ;  so  I  took  my  letters 
from  the  bed  and  disposed  myself  in  a  chair  to  peruse  them  while 
Snips  should  remain  busy  with  his  shears. 

The  first  letter  I  unsealed  was  from  Nick  Stoner,  and  written 
from  Saratoga: 

"FRIEND  JACK, 

"I  take  quill  and  ink  to  acquaint  you  how  it  goes  with  us  here 
in  the  regiment. 

"I  am  fifer,  and  when  in  action  am  stationed  near  to  the 
colours  for  duty.  Damn  them,  they  should  give  me  a  gun,  also,  as 
I  can  shoot  better  than  any  of  'em,  as  you  know. 

"My  brother  John  is  a  drummer  in  our  regiment,  and  has 
learned  all  his  flamms  and  how  to  beat  all  things  lively  save  the 
devil. 

"My  father  is  a  private  in  our  regiment,  which  is  pleasant  for 
all,  and  ht  is  a  dead  shot  and  afeard  of  nothing  save  hell. 

"I  have  got  into  mischief  and  been  punished  on  several  oc- 
casions. I  like  not  being  triced  up  between  two  halbards. 

"I  long  to  see  Betsy  Browse.  She  hath  a  pretty  way  of  kissing. 
And  sometimes  I  long  to  see  Anne  Mason,  who  has  her  own  way, 
too.  You  are  not  acquainted  with  that  saucy  baggage,  I  think. 
But  she  lives  only  two  miles  from  where  my  Betsy  abides.  And 
I  warrant  you  I  was  put  to  it,  sparking  both,  lest  they  discover 
I  drove  double  harness.  And  there  was  Zuyler's  pretty  daughter, 
too — but  enough  of  tender  memories! 

"Anna  has  raven  hair  and  jet  black  eyes  and  is  snowy  other- 
wise. I  don't  mean  cold.  Angelica  Zuyler  is  fair  of  hair  but  brown 
for  the  rest 

"Well,  Jack,  I  think  on  you  every  day  and  hope  you  do  well 
with  your  Oneidas,  who,  we  hear,  are  out  with  you  on  the 
Schoharie. 

"Our  head-quarters  runner  is  your  old  Saguenay,  and  he  is  much 
trusted  by  our  General,  they  say.  Sometimes  the  fierce  fellow 
comes  to  visit  me,  but  asks  only  for  news  of  you,  and  when  I 
say  I  have  none  he  sits  in  silence.  And  always,  when  he  leaves, 
he  says  very  solemnly:  'Tell  my  Captain  that  I  am  a  real  man. 
But  did  not  know  it  until  my  Captain  told  me  so.' 


326  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

"Now  the  news  is  that  Burgoyne  finds  himself  in  a  pickle  since 
the  bloody  battle  at  Oriskany.  I  think  he  flounders  like  a  big 
chain-pike  stranded  belly-deep  in  a  shallow  pool  which  is  slowly 
drying  up  around  him. 

"We  are  no  longer  afeard  of  his  Germans,  his  General  Baum- 
Boom,  his  famous  artillery,  or  his  Indians. 

"What  the  Tryon  County  lads  did  to  St.  Leger  we  shall  surely 
do  to  that  big  braggart,  John  Burgoyne.  And  mean  to  do  it 
presently. 

"I  send  this  letter  to  you  by  Adam  Helmer,  who  goes  this  day 
to  Schenectady,  riding  express. 

"I  give  you  my  hand  and  heart.    I  hope  Penelope  is  well. 

"And  beg  permission  to  remain,  sir,  your  most  humble  and 
obliged  and  obedient  servant, 

"NICHOLAS  STONER." 

I  laid  aside  Nick's  letter,  half  smiling,  half  sad,  at  the  thoughts 
it  evoked  within  me. 

Young  Master  Snips  was  now  a-drying  of  my  hair.  I  opened 
another  letter,  which  bore  the  inscription,  'By  flag.'  It  had  been 
unsealed,  which,  of  course,  was  the  rule,  and  so  approved  and 
delivered  to  me : 

*T)EAB  JACK, 

"I  am  fearfully  unhappy.  This  day  news  is  brought  of  the 
action  at  Oriska,  and  that  my  dear  brother  is  dead. 

"I  pray  you,  if  it  be  within  your  power,  to  give  my  poor 
Stephen  decent  burial.  He  was  your  boyhood  friend.  Ah,  God, 
what  an  unnatural  strife  is  this  that  sets  friend  against  friend, 
brother  against  brother,  father  against  son! 

"Can  you  not  picture  my  wretchedness  and  distress  to  know 
that  my  darling  brother  is  slain,  that  my  husband  is  at  this 
moment  facing  the  terrible  rifle-fire  of  your  infuriated  soldiery, 
that  many  of  my  intimate  friends  are  dead  or  wounded  at  this 
terrible  Oriskany  where  they  say  your  maddened  soldiers  flung 
aside  their  muskets  and  leaped  upon  our  Greens  and  Rangers 
with  knife  and  hatchet,  and  tore  their  very  souls  out  with  naked 
hands. 

"I  pray  that  you  were  not  involved  in  that  horrible  affair.  I 
pray  that  you  may  live  through  these  fearful  times  to  the  end, 
•whatever  that  end  shall  be.  God  alone  knows. 

"I  thank  you  for  your  generous  forbearance  and  chivalry  to  ua 
on  the  Oneida  Road.  I  saw  your  painted  Oneida  Indians  crouch- 


A  LONG  GOOD-BYE  327 

ing  in  the  roadside  weeds,  although  I  did  not  tell  you  that  I  had 
discovered  them.  But  I  was  terrified  for  my  baby.  You  have 
heard  how  Iroquois  Indians  sometimes  conduct. 

"Dear  Jack,  I  can  not  find  in  my  heart  any  unkind  thought  of 
you.  I  trust  you  think  of  me  as  kindly. 

"And  so  I  ask  you,  if  it  be  within  your  power,  to  give  my  poor 
brother  decent  burial.  And  mark  the  grave  so  that  one  day, 
please  God,  we  may  remove  his  mangled  remains  to  a  friendlier 
place  than  Tryon  has  proven  for  me  and  mine. 

"I  am,  dear  Jack,  with  unalterable  affection, 

"Your  unhappy, 

"POLLY." 

My  eyes  were  misty  as  I  laid  the  letter  aside,  resolving  to  do 
all  I  could  to  carry  out  Lady  Johnson's  desires.  For  not  until 
long  afterward  did  I  hear  that  Steve  Watts  had  survived  his 
terrible  wounds  and  was  finally  safe  from  the  vengeance  of  out- 
raged Tryon. 

Another  letter,  also  with  broken  seal,  I  laid  open  and  read 
while  Snips  heated  his  irons  and  gazed  out  of  the  breezy  window, 
where,  with  fife  and  drum,  I  could  hear  the  garrison  marching 
out  for  exercise  and  practice. 

And  to  the  lively  marching  music  of  The  Huron,  I  read  my 
letter  from  Claudia  Swift: 

"Oneida;  Aug:  7th,  1777. 
"My  DEAREST  JACK, 

"I  am  informed  that  I  may  venture  to  send  this  epistle  under 
a  flag  that  goes  out  today.  No  doubt  but  some  Yankee  Paul 
Pry  in  blue-and-buff  will  crack  the  seal  and  read  it  before  you  re- 
ceive it. 

"But  I  snap  my  fingers  at  him.  I  care  not.  I  am  bold  to  say 
that  I  do  love  you.  And  dearly !  So  much  for  Master  Pry ! 

"But,  alas,  my  friend,  now  indeed  I  am  put  to  it;  for  I  must 
confess  to  you  a  sadder  and  deeper  anxiety.  For  if  I  love  you, 
sir,  I  am  otherwise  in  love.  And  with  another!  I  shall  not  dare 
to  confess  his  name.  But  you  saw  and  recognized  him,  at  Summer 
House  when  Steve  was  there  a  year  ago  last  spring. 

"Now  you  know.  Yes,  I  am  madly  in  love,  Jack.  And  am 
racked  witli  terrors  and  nigh  out  o'  my  wits  with  this  awful  news 
of  the  Oriska  battle. 

"We  hear  that  Captain  Walter  Butler  is  taken  out  o'  uniform 
within  your  lines;  and  so,  lacking  the  protection  of  his  regi- 
mentals, he  is  like  to  suffer  as  a  spy.  My  God!  Was  he  alone 


328  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

when  apprehended  by  Arnold's  troops?  And  will  General  Arnold 
hang  him? 

"This  is  the  urgent  news  I  ask  of  you.  I  am  horribly  afraid. 
In  mercy  send  me  some  account;  for  there  are  terrible  rumours 
afloat  in  this  fortress — rumours  of  other  spies  taken  by  your 
soldiery,  and  of  brutal  executions — I  can  not  bring  myself  to 
write  of  what  I  fear.  Pity  me,  Jack,  and  write  me  what  you 
hear. 

"Could  you  not  beg  this  one  mercy  of  Billy  Alexander,  that 
he  send  a  flag  or  contrive  to  have  one  sent  from  your  Northern 
Department,  explaining  to  us  poor  women  what  truly  has  been, — 
and  is  like  to  be — the  fate  of  such  unfortunate  prisoners  in  your 
hands? 

"And  remember  who  it  is  appeals  to  you,  dear  Jack;  for  even 
if  I  have  not  merited  your  consideration, — if  I,  perhaps,  have 
even  forfeited  the  regard  of  Billy  Alexander, — I  pray  you  both 
to  remember  that  you  once  were  a  little  in  love  with  me. 

"And  so,  deal  with  me  gently,  Jack.  For  I  am  frightened  and 
sick  at  heart;  and  know  very  little  about  love,  which,  for  the  first 
time  ever  in  my  life,  has  now  undone  me. 

"Will  you  not  aid  and  forgive  your  unhappy,  CLAUDIA." 

Good  Lord!  Claudia  enamoured!  And  enamoured  of  that 
great  villain,  Henry  Hare!  Why,  damn  him,  he  hath  a  wife  and 
children,  too,  or  I  am  most  grossly  in  error. 

I  had  not  heard  that  Walter  Butler  was  taken.  I  knew  not 
whether  Lieutenant  Hare  had  been  caught  in  Butler's  evil  com- 
pany or  if,  indeed,  he  had  fought  at  all  with  old  John  Butler 
at  Oriska. 

Frowning,  disgusted,  yet  sad  also  to  learn  that  Claudia  could  so 
rashly  and  so  ignobly  lavish  her  affections,  nevertheless  I  re- 
solved to  ask  Lord  Stirling  if  a  flag  could  not  be  sent  with  news 
to  Claudia  and  such  other  anxious  ladies  as  might  be  eating  their 
hearts  out  at  Oneida,  or  Oswego,  or  Buck  Island. 

And  'so  I  laid  aside  her  painful  letter,  and  unfolded  the  last 
missive.  And  discovered  it  was  writ  me  by  Penelope: 

"You  should  not  think  harshly  of  me,  Jack  Drogue,  if  you 
return  and  discover  that  I  am  gone  away  from  Johnstown. 

"Douw  Fonda  is  returned  to  Cayadutta  Lodge.  He  has  now 
sent  a  carriage  for  to  fetch  me.  It  is  waiting  while  I  write.  I 
can  not  refuse  him. 

"If,  when  we  meet  again,  you  desire  to  know  my  mind  con- 


A  LONG  GOOD-BYE  329 

cerning  you,  then,  if  you  choose  to  look  into  it,  you  shall  dis- 
cover that  my  mind  contains  only  a  single  thought.  And  the 
thought  is  for  you. 

"But  if  you  desire  no  longer  to  know  my  mind  when  again — 
if  ever — we  two  meet  together,  then  you  shall  not  feel  it  your 
duty  to  concern  yourself  about  my  mind,  or  what  thought  may  be 
within  it. 

"I  would  not  write  coldly  to  you,  John  Drogue.  Nor  would  I 
importune  with  passion. 

"I  have  no  claim  upon  your  further  kindness.  You  have  every 
claim  upon  my  life-long  gratitude. 

"But  I  offer  more  than  gratitude  if  you  should  still  desire  it; 
and  I  would  offer  less — if  it  should  better  please  you. 

"Feel  not  offended;  feel  free.  Come  to  me  if  it  pleaseth  you; 
and,  if  you  come  not,  there  is  in  me  that  which  shall  pardon 
all  you  do,  or  leave  undone,  as  long  as  ever  I  shall  live  on  earth. 

'TENELOPE  GRANT." 

When  Snips  had  powdered  me  and  had  tied  my  club  with  a 
queue-ribbon  of  his  proper  selection,  he  patched  my  cheek-bone 
where  a  thorn  had  torn  me,  and  stood  a-twirling  his  iron  as 
though  lost  in  admiration  of  his  handiwork. 

When  I  paid  him  I  bade  him  tell  Burke  to  bring  around  my 
horse  and  fetch  my  saddle  bags;  and  then  I  dressed  me  in  my 
regimentals. 

When  Burke  came  with  the  saddle-bags,  we  packed  them  to- 
gether. He  promised  to  care  for  my  rifle  and  pack,  took  my  new 
light  blanket  over  his  arm,  and  led  the  way  down  stairs,  where 
I  presently  perceived  Kaya  saddled,  and  pricking  ears  to  hear 
my  voice. 

Whilst  I  caressed  her  and  whispered  in  her  pretty  ear  the  idle 
tenderness  that  a  man  confides  to  a  beloved  horse,  Burke  placed 
my  pistols,  strapped  saddle-bags  and  blanket,  and  held  my  stirrup 
as  I  gathered  bridle  and  set  my  spurred  boot  firmly  on  the  steel. 

And  so  swung  to  my  saddle,  and  sat  there,  dividing  bridles, 
deep  fixed  in  troubled  thought  and  anxiously  concerned  for  the 
safety  of  the  unselfish  but  very  stubborn  girl  I  loved. 

I  had  said  my  adieux  to  Jimmy  Burke;  I  had  taken  leave  of 
the  Commandant  at  the  palisades  jail.  I  now  galloped  Kaya 
through  the  town,  riding  by  way  of  Butlersbury ;  *  and  saw  the 

4  *  A  letter  written  by  Colonel  Butler  so  designates  the  place  where  the 
ancient  Butler  house  is  still  standing.  The  letter  mentioned  is  in  the  posses- 
sion of  the  author. 


330  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

steep  roof  of  the  Butler  house  through  the  grove,  and  shuddered 
as  I  thought  of  the  unhappy  young  man  who  had  lived  there 
and  who,  at  that  very  moment,  might  be  hanging  by  his  neck 
while  the  drums  rolled  from  the  hollow  square. 

Down  the  steep  hill  I  rode,  careful  of  loose  stone,  and  so 
came  to  the  river  and  to  Caughnawaga.* 

All  was  peaceful  and  still  in  the  noonday  sunshine;  the  river 
wore  a  glassy  surface;  farm  waggons  creaked  slowly  through 
golden  dust  along  the  Fort  Johnson  highway;  fat  cattle  lay  in 
the  shade;  and  from  the  brick  chimneys  of  Caughnawaga  blue 
smoke  drifted  where,  in  her  cellar  kitchen,  the  good  wife  was 
a-cooking  of  the  noontide  dinner. 

When  presently  I  espied  Douw  Fonda's  great  mansion  of  stone, 
I  saw  nobody  on  the  porch,  and  no  smoke  rising  from  the  chimneys, 
yet  the  front  door  stood  open. 

But  when  I  rode  up  to  the  porch,  a  black  wench  came  from  the 
house,  who  said  that  Mr.  Fonda  dined  at  his  son's  that  day,  and 
would  remain  until  evening. 

However,  when  I  made  inquiry  for  Penelope,  I  found  that  she 
was  within, — had  already  been  served  with  dinner, — and  was 
now  gone  to  the  library  to  read  and  knit  as  usual  when  alone. 

The  black  wench  took  my  mare  and  whistled  shrilly  for  a 
slave  to  come  and  hold  the  horse. 

But  I  had  already  mounted  the  stoop  and  entered  the  silent 
house;  and  now  I  perceived  Penelope,  who  had  risen  from  a 
chair  and  was  laying  aside  her  book  and  knitting. 

She  seemed  very  white  when  I  went  to  her  and  drew  her  into 
my  embrace;  and  she  rested  her  cheek  against  my  shoulder  and 
took  close  hold  of  my  two  arms,  but  uttered  not  a  word. 

Under  her  lace  cap  her  hair  glimmered  like  sun-warmed  gold; 
and  her  hands,  which  had  become  very  fine  and  white  again, 
began  to  move  upward  to  my  shoulders,  till  they  encircled  my 
neck  and  rested  there,  tight  linked. 

For  a  space  she  wept,  but  presently  staunched  her  tears  with 
her  laced  apron's  edge,  like  a  child  at  school.  And  when  I  made 
her  look  upon  me  she  smiled  though  she  still  breathed  sobbingly, 
and  her  lips  still  quivered  as  I  kissed  her. 

We  sat  close  together  there  in  the  golden  gloom  of  the  cur- 
tained room,  where  only  a  bar  of  dusty  sunlight  fell  across  a  row  of 
gilded  books. 

I  had  told  her  everything — had  given  an  account  of  all  that  had 

*  Now  the  town  of  Fonda. 


A  LONG  GOOD-BYE  331 

"befallen  my  little  scout,  and  how  I  had  returned  to  Johnstown, 
and  how  so  suddenly  my  fortunes  had  been  completely  changed. 

I  told  her  of  what  I  knew  of  the  battle  at  Oriskany,  of  the 
present  situation  at  Stanwix  and  at  Saratoga,  and  of  what  I  saw  of 
the  fight  at  the  Flockey,  where  McDonald  ran. 

I  begged  her  to  persuade  Mr.  Fonda  to  go  to  Albany,  and  she 
promised  to  do  so.  And  when  I  pointed  out  in  detail  how  perilous 
was  his  situation  here,  and  how  desperate  her  own,  she  said  she 
knew  it,  and  had  been  horribly  afraid,  but  that  Caughnawaga  folk 
seemed  strangely  indifferent  to  the  danger, — could  not  bring 
themselves  to  believe  in  it,  perhaps, — and  were  loath  to  leave 
their  homes  unprotected  and  their  fields  untilled. 

But  when  I  touched  on  her  leaving  these  foolish  people  and, 
as  my  wife,  travelling  southward  with  me  to  the  great  fortress 
on  the  Hudson,  she  only  wept,  saying,  in  tears,  that  she  was  needed 
by  an  old  and  feeble  man  who  had  protected  her  when  she  was 
poor  and  friendless,  and  that,  though  she  loved  me,  her  duty  still 
lay  first  at  Douw  Fonda's  side. 

Quit  him  she  utterly  refused  to  do ;  and  it  was  in  vain  I  pointed 
out  his  three  stalwart  sons  and  their  numerous  families,  re- 
tainers, tenants,  servants,  and  slaves,  who  ought  to  care  for  the 
obstinate  old  gentleman  and  provide  a  security  for  him  whether 
he  would  or  no. 

But  argument  was  useless;  I  knew  it.  And  all  I  obtained  of  her 
was  that,  whether  matters  north  of  us  mended  or  grew  worse, 
she  would  persuade  Mr.  Fonda  to  return  to  Albany  until  such 
time  as  Tryon  County  became  once  more  safe  to  live  in. 

This  she  promised,  and  even  assured  me  that  she  had  already 
spoken  of  the  matter  to  Mr.  Fonda,  and  that  the  old  gentleman 
appeared  to  be  quite  willing  to  return  to  Albany  as  soon  as 
his  grain  could  be  reaped  and  threshed. 

So  with  this  I  had  to  content  my  heavy  heart.  And  now,  by 
the  tall  clock,  I  perceived  that  my  time  was  up;  for  Schenectady 
lay  far  away,  and  Albany  father  still ;  and  it  was  like  to  be  a  long 
and  dreary  journey  to  West  Point,  if,  indeed,  I  should  find  Lord 
Stirling  still  there. 

For  at  Johnstown  fort  that  morning  I  was  warned  that  my 
General  Lord  Stirling  had  already  rejoined  his  division  in  the 
Jerseys;  and  that  the  news  was  brought  by  riflemen  of  Morgan's 
corps,  which  was  now  swiftly  marching  to  join  our  Northern 
forces  near  Saratoga. 

Well,  God's  will  must  obtain  on  earth;  none  can  thwart  it; 
none  foretell 


332  THE  LITTLE  EED  FOOT 

At  the  thought  I  looked  down  at  Penelope,  where  I  held  her 
clasped ;  and  I  told  her  of  the  vision  of  Thiohero. 

She  remained  very  still  when  she  learned  what  the  Little 
Maid  of  Askalege  had  seen  there  beside  me  in  the  cannon-cloud, 
where  the  German  foresters  of  Hainau,  in  their  outlandish  dress, 
were  shouting  and  shooting. 

For  Penelope  had  seen  the  same  white  shape;  and  had  been, 
she  said,  afeard  that  it  was  my  own  weird  she  saw, — so  white  it 
seemed  to  her,  she  said, — so  still  and  shrouded  in  its  misty  veil. 

"Was  it  I?"  she  whispered  in  an  awed  voice.  "Was  it  truly 
I  that  the  Oneida  virgin  saw?  And  did  she  know  my  features 
in  the  shroud?" 

"She  saw  you  all  in  white  and  flowers,  floating  there  near  me 
like  mist  at  sunrise." 

"She  told  you  it  was  I?" 

"Dying,  she  so  told  me.  And,  TTellow  Hair,'  she  gasped,  'is 
quite  a  witch !'  And  then  she  died  between  my  arms." 

"I  am  no  witch,"  she  whispered. 

"Nor  was  the  Little  Maid  of  Askalege.  Both  of  you,  I  think, 
saw  at  times  things  that  we  others  can  not  perceive  until  they 
happen ; — the  shadow  of  events  to  come." 

"Yes." 

After  a  silence:  "Have  you,  perhaps,  discovered  other  shadows 
since  we  last  met,  Penelope?" 

"Yes;  shadows." 

"What  coming  event  cast  them?" 

After  a  long  pause:  "Will  it  make  his  mind  more  tranquil  if  I 
tell  him  ?"  she  murmured  to  herself ;  and  I  saw  her  dark  eyes  fixed 
absently  on  the  dusty  ray  of  sunlight  slanting  athwart  the  room. 

Then  she  looked  up  at  me;  blushed  to  her  hair:  "I  saw  children 
— with  yellow  hair — and  your  eyes " 

"With  your  hair!" 

"And  your  eyes — John  Drogue — John   Drogue " 

The  stillness  of  Paradise  grew  all  around  us,  filling  my  soul 
•with  a  great  and  heavenly  silence. 

We  could  not  die — we  two  who  stood  here  so  closely  clasped — 
until  this  vision  had  been  fulfilled. 

And  so,  presently,  her  hands  fell  into  mine,  and  our  lips  joined 
slowly,  and  rested. 

We  said  no  word.  I  left  her  standing  there  in  the  golden 
twilight  of  the  curtains,  and  got  to  my  saddle, — God  knows 
how, — and  rode  away  beside  the  quiet  river  to  the  certain  destiny 
that  no  man  ever  can  hope  to  hinder  or  escape. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

"IN  THE  VALLEY" 

ON  the  24th  of  June,  1777,  Major  General  Lord  Stirling  had 
disobeyed  the  orders  of  His  Excellency;  and,  in  conse- 
quence, his  flank  was  turned,  he  lost  two  guns  and  150  men.* 

It  is  the  only  military  mistake  that  my  Lord  Stirling  ever 
made;  the  only  lesson  he  ever  had  to  learn  in  military  judgment 
and  obedience. 

I  was  of  his  family  for  three  years, — serving  as  one  of  his 
secretaries  and  aids-de-camp. 

I  was  present  at  the  battle  of  Brandy  wine;  I  served  under 
him  at  Germantown  in  the  fog,  and  at  Monmouth;  and  never 
doubted  that  my  Lord  Stirling  was  a  fin©  and  capable  and  knightly 
soldier,  if  not  possibly  a  great  one. 

Yet,  perhaps,  there  was  only  one  great  soldier  in  that  long  and 
bloody  war  of  the  American  Revolution.  I  need  not  name  His 
Excellency. 

For  nearly  three  years,  as  I  say,  I  served  as  a  member  of 
Lord  Stirling's  military  family.  The  lights  and  shadows  of  those 
days  of  fire  and  ice,  of  plenty  and  starvation,  of  joy  and  despair, 
of  monstrous  and  incredible  effort,  and  of  paralyzing  inaction, 
are  known  now  to  all. 

And  the  end  is  not  yet — nor,  I  fear,  very  near  to  a  finish.  But 
we  all  await  our  nation's  destiny  with  confidence,  I  think; — and 
our  own  fate  with  composure. 

No  man  can  pass  through  such  years  and  remain  what  he  was 
born.  No  man  can  regret  them;  none  can  dare  wish  to  live 
through  such  days  again;  none  would  shun  them.  And  how  many 
months,  or  years,  maybe,  of  fighting  still  remain  before  us,  no 
man  can  foretell.  But  the  grim  men  in  their  scare-crow  regi- 
.tnentals  who  today,  in  the  present  year  of  1780,  are  closing 

tanks  to  prepare   for  future  battles,   even   in  the  bitter  after- 

i 

*  The  British  account  makes  it  three  guns  and  200  men. 

333 


334  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

math   of   defeat,   seem  to   know,   somehow,   that   this   nation   ia 
destined  to  survive. 

From  the  month  of  August  in  1777  to  May,  1780,  I  had  not 
seen  Penelope;  I  had  asked  for  no  leave  to  travel,  knowing,  by 
reason  of  my  confidential  office  and  better  than  many  others, 
how  desperate  was  our  army's  plight  and  how  utterly  every 
able-bodied  man  was  needed. 

In  consequence,  I  had  not  seen  my  own  Northland  in  all  those 
months;  I  had  not  seen  Penelope.  Letters  I  wrote  and  sent  to 
her  when  opportunity  offered;  letters  came  from  her,  and  always 
written  from  Caughnawaga. 

For  it  appeared  that  Douw  Fonda  had  never  consented  to  re- 
turn to  Albany;  but,  by  some  miracle  of  God,  the  Yalley  so  far 
had  suffered  no  serious  harm.  Yet,  the  terrible  business  at 
Wyoming  renewed  my  every  cruelest  fear  for  the  safety  of 
Caughnawaga;  and  when,  in  the  same  year,  a  Continental  regi- 
ment of  the  Pennsylvania  Line  marched  out  from  Schoharie  to 
destroy  Unadilla,  I,  who  knew  the  Iroquois,  knew  that  their  re- 
venge was  certain  to  follow. 

It  followed  in  that  very  year;  and  Cherry  Yalley  became  a 
bloodsoaked  heap  of  cinders;  and  there,  under  Iroquois  knife  and 
hatchet,  and  under  the  merciless  clubbed  muskets  of  the  blue-eyed 
Indians,  many  of  my  old  friends  died — all  of  the  Wells  family 
save  only  one — old  and  young  and  babies.  What  a  crime  was 
done  by  young  Walter  Butler  on  that  fearful  day!  And  I  some- 
times wonder,  now,  what  our  generous  but  sentimental  young 
Marquis  thinks  of  his  deed  of  mercy  when  he  saw  and  pitied 
Walter  Butler  in  an  Albany  prison,  sick  and  under  sentence 
of  death,  and  procured  medical  treatment  for  him  and  more 
comfortable  quarters  in  a  private  residence. 

And  Butler  drugged  his  sentry  and  slipped  our  fingers  like 
a  rat  and  was  off  in  a  trice  and  gone  to  his  bloody  destiny  in  the 
West!  Lord — Lord! — the  things  men  do  to  men! 

When  Brant  burned  Minnisink  I  trembled  anew  for  Caughna- 
waga; and  breathed  freely  only  when  our  General  Sullivan 
marched  on  Tioga  with  six  thousand  men. 

Yet,  though  he  cleaned  out  the  foul  and  hidden  nests  of  the 
Iroquois  Confederacy,  I,  knowing  these  same  Iroquois,  knew  in 
my  dreading  heart  that  Iroquois  vengeance  would  surely  strike 
again,  and  this  time  at  the  Yalley. 

Because,  out  of  the  Mohawk  Yalley,  came  all  their  chiefest 


"IN  THE  VALLEY"  335 

woes;  Oriskany,  which  set  the  whole  Six  Nations  howling  their 
dead;  Stillwater;  Unadilla;  Tioga;  The  Chemung — these  battles 
tore  the  Iroquois  to  fragments. 

The  Long  House,  in  ruins,  rang  with  the  frantic  wailing  of 
four  fierce  nations.  The  Senecas  screamed  in  their  pain  from  the 
Western  Gate;  the  Cayugas  and  Onondagas  were  singing  the  death 
song  of  their  nations;  the  proud  Keepers  of  the  Eastern  Gate, 
driven  headlong  into  exile,  gathered  like  bleeding  panthers  on 
the  frontier,  their  glowing  gaze  intent  and  patient,  watching 
the  usurpers  and  marking  them  for  vengeance  and  destruction. 

To  me,  personally,  the  conflict  in  my  Northland  had  become 
unutterably  horrible. 

Our  battles  in  the  Jerseys,  in  Pennsylvania,  in  Delaware,  and 
farther  south,  held  for  me  no  such  horror  and  repugnance;  for 
if  the  panoply  of  war  be  dreadful,  its  pomp  and  circumstance 
make  it  endurable  and  to  be  understood  by  human  beings. 

But  to  me  there  was  something  terrifying  in  secret  ambush 
and  ghastly  massacre  amid  the  eternal  twilight  of  the  Northern 
wilderness,  where  painted  men  stole  through  still  places,  intent 
on  murder;  where  death  was  swift  and  silent,  where  all  must 
watch  and  none  dared  rest;  where  children  wept  in  their 
sleep,  and  mothers  lay  listening  all  night  leng,  and  hollow-eyed 
men  cut  their  corn  with  sickle  in  one  hand  and  rifle  in  the 
other. 

We,  in  the  Jerseys,  watching  red-coat  and  Hessian,  heard  of 
scalps  taken  in  the  North  from  babies  lying  in  their  cradles — 
aye,  the  very  watch-dog  at  the  gate  was  scalped;  and  painted 
Tories  threw  their  victims  over  rail  fences  to  hang  there,  dis- 
embowelled, like  dead  game. 

We  heard  terrible  and  inhuman  tales  of  Simon  Girty,  of 
Benjy  Beacraft,  of  Billy  Newbury — all  old  neighbours  of  mine, 
and  now  turned  child-killers  and  murderers  of  helpless  women — 
all  painted  men,  now,  ferocious  and  without  mercy. 

But  these  men  had  never  been  more  than  ignorant  peasants 
and  dull  tillers  of  the  soil  for  thriftier  masters.  Yet  they  were 
no  crueller  than  others  of  birth  and  education.  And  what  was 
I  to  think  of  Walter  Butler  and  other  gentlemen  of  like  condi- 
tion,— officers  who  had  delivered  Tom  Boyd  of  Derry  to  the 
Senecas, — Colonel  Paris  to  the  Mohawks ! 

The  day  we  heard  that  Sergeant  Newbury  and  Henry  Hare 
were  taken,  I  thanked  God  on  my  knees.  And  when  our  General 
Clinton  hung  them  both  for  human  monsters  as  well  as  spies, 


336  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

then  I  thanked  God  again.  .  .  .  And  wrote  tenderly  to  Claudia, 
poor  misguided  girl! — condoling  with  her — not  for  her  grief  and 
the  death  of  Henry  Hare  * — but  that  the  black  disgrace  of  it  should 
so  nearly  touch  and  soil  her. 

I  have  received,  so  far,  no  letter  from  Claudia  in  reply.  But 
Lord  Stirling  tells  me  that  she  reigns  a  belle  in  New  York; 
and  that  she  hath  wrought  havoc  among  the  Queen's  Rangers,  and 
particularly  in  De  Lancy's  Horse  and  the  gay  cavalry  of  Colonel 
Tarleton. 

I  pray  her  pretty,  restless  wings  may  not  be  singed  or  broken, 
or  flutter,  dying,  in  the  web  of  Fate. 

Nick  Stoner's  father,  Henry,  that  grim  old  giant  with  his  two 
earhoops  in  his  leathery  ears,  and  with  all  his  brawn,  and  mighty 
strength,  and  the  lurking  scowl  deep  bitten  betwixt  his  tiger 
eyes, — old  Henry  Stoner  is  dead  and  scalped. 

Nick,  who  is  now  fife-major,  has  writ  me  this  in  a  letter  full 
of  oaths  and  curses  for  the  Iroquois  who  have  done  this  shame 
to  him  and  his. 

For  every  hair  on  old  Henry's  mangled  head,  said  he,  an 
Iroquois  should  spit  out  his  death-yell.  He  tells  me  that  he 
means  to  quit  the  army  and  enter  the  business  of  tanning  Iroquoia 
hides  to  make  boots  and  moccasins;  and  says  that  Tim  Murphy 
has  knee  moccasins  as  fine  as  ever  he  saw,  and  made  out  o'  leather 
skinned  off  an  Indian's  legs! 

Faugh !  Grief  and  shame  have  made  Nick  blood-mad.  .  .  .  Yet, 
I  know  not  what  I  should  do,  or  how  conduct,  if  she  who  is  nearest 
to  my  heart  should  ever  suffer  from  an  Indian. 

This  sweet  April  day,  taking  the  air  near  Lord  Stirling's 
marquee,  I  see  the  first  white  butterflies  a-fluttering  like  wind- 
blown bits  o'  paper  across  the  new  grass.  ...  In  the  North  the 
woodlands  should  be  soft  with  snow;  and,  in  warm  places,  perhaps 
the  butterfly  we  call  the  beauty  of  Camberwell  may  sit  sipping 
the  first  drops  o'  maple  sap.  .  .  .  And  there  should  be  a  scent 
of  pink  arbutus  in  the  breeze,  if  winds  be  soft.  .  .  .  Lord — 
Lord — I  am  become  sick  for  home.  .  .  .  And  would  see  my  glebe 
again  in  Fonda's  Bush;  and  hear  the  spring  roaring  of  the 
Kennyetto  between  melting  banks.  .  .  .  And  listen  to  the  fairy 
thunder  of  the  cock  partridge  drumming  on  his  log. 

*  In  the  writer's  possession  is  a  letter  written  by  the  widow  of  Lieutenant 
Hare,  retailing  the  circumstances  of  his  execution  and  praying  for  financial 
relief  from  extreme  poverty.  General  Sir  Frederick  Haldimand  indorses  the 
application  in  his  own  handwriting  and  recommends  a  pension.  The  widow 
mentions  her  six  little  cliiMren. 


"IN  THE  VALLEY"  337 

My  neighbours  are  all  ckuu  or  gone  away,  they  say.  My  house 
is  a  heap  of  wind-stirred  ashes, — as  are  all  houses  in  Fonda's  Bush 
save  only  S toner's.  My  cleared  land  sprouts  young  forests;  my 
fences  are  gone;  wolves  travel  my  paths;  deer  pasture  my  hill; 
and  my  new  orchard  stands  dead  and  girdle;]  ly  wood-mouse  and 
rabbit.  .  .  .  And  still  I  be  sick  for  a  sight  of  if,  that  was  once 
my  home, — and  ever  shall  be  while  I  possess  a  handful  of  mother 
earth  to  call  mine  own. 

It  is  near  the  end  of  April  and  I  seem  sick,  but  would  not 
have  Billy  Alexander  think  I  mope. 

I  have  a  letter  from  Penelope.  She  lately  saw  a  small  scout  on 
the  Mohawk,  it  being  a  part  of  M'Kean's  corps ;  and  she  recognized 
and  conversed  with  several  men  who  once  composed  my  first  war 
party — Jean  de  Silver,  Benjamin  De  Luysnes,  Joe  de  Golyer 
of  Frenchman's  Creek,  and  Godfrey  Shew  of  Fish  House. 

They  were  on  their  way  to  Canada  by  way  of  Sacandaga,  to 
learn  what  Sir  John  might  be  about.  .  .  .  God  knows  I  also  desire 
very  earnestly  to  know  what  the  sinister  Baronet  may  be  planning. 

Penelope  writes  me  that  Tahioni  the  Wolf  is  dead  in  his  glory; 
and  that  Hiakatoo  took  his  scalp  and  heart.  ...  I  suppose  that 
is  glory  enough  for  any  dead  young  warrior,  but  the  intelligence 
fills  me  with  foreboding.  And  Kwiyeh  the  Screech-owl  is  dead 
at  Lake  Desolation,  and  so  is  Hanatoh  the  Water-snake,  where 
some  Praying  Indians  caught  them  in  a  canoe  and  made  a 
dreadful  example  of  my  two  young  comrades.  .  .  .  But  at  least 
they  were  permitted  to  sing  their  death-songs,  and  so  died  happy — 
if  that  indeed  be  happiness.  .  .  . 

The  Cadys,  who  were  gone  off  to  Canada,  and  John  and  Phil 
Helmer,  have  been  seen  in  green  uniforms  and  red;  and  Adam 
Helmer  has  sworn  an  oath  to  seek  them,  follow  them,  and  slay  them 
for  the  bloody  turncoat  dogs  they  are.  Lord,  Lord,  how  hast  Thou 
changed  Thy  children  into  creatures  of  the  wild  to  prey  one  upon 
another  till  all  the  Northland  becomes  once  more  a  desert  and 
empty  of  human  life! 

It  is  May.    I  sicken  for  Penelope  and  for  my  home. 

I  am  given  a  furlough  I  I  asked  it  not.  Lord  Stirling  dismisses 
me — with  a  grin.  Pretense  of  inspection  covering  the  Johnstown 
district,  and  to  count  the  batteaux  between  Schenectady  and 
the  Creek  of  Askalege!  Which  is  but  sheer  nonsense;  and  I 
had  as  well  spend  the  time  a-telling  of  my  thumbs — which  Lord 
Stirling  knows  as  well  as  I  is  the  pastime  of  an  idiot.  .  .  .  God 
bless  him ! 


338  THE  LITTLE  BED  FOOT 

I  am  given  a  month  to  arrange  my  personal  affairs.  I  have 
asked  for  nothing;  and  am  given  a  month  1  .  .  .  And  stand  here 
at  the  tent  door  all  a-tremble  while  my  mare  is  saddled,  not 
trusting  my  voice  lest  it  break  and  shame  me  before  all.  .  .  . 

I  close  my  camet  and  strap  it  with  a  buckle. 

I  am  on  my  way!  Shad-bushes  drop  a  million  snowy  petals 
in  the  soft  May  breeze;  dogwood  is  in  bloom;  orchards  are 
become  great  nosegays  of  pink  and  silver.  Everywhere  birds  are 
singing. 

And  through  this  sweet  Paradise  I  ride  in  my  dingy  regi- 
mentals ;  but  my  pistols  are  clean  and  my  leathers ;  and  my  sword 
and  spurs  are  bright,  and  chime  gaily  as  I  ride  beside  the  great 
gray  river  northward,  ever  northward  to  my  sweetheart  and  my 
home. 

I  baited  at  Tarrytown.  The  next  night  I  was  at  Poughkeepsie, 
where  the  landlord  was  a  low-Dutchman  and  a  skinflint  too. 

I  passed  opposite  to  where  Kingston  lay  in  ashes,  burned 
wantonly  by  a  brute.  And  after  that  I  advanced  but  slowly,  for 
roads  were  bad  and  folk  dour  and  suspicious — which  state  of  mind 
I  also  shared  and  had  no  traffic  with  those  I  encountered,  and  chose 
to  camp  in  the  woods,  too,  rather  than  risk  a  night  under  the 
dubious  roofs  I  saw,  even  though  invited. 

Only  near  the  military  posts  in  the  Highlands  did  I  feel  truly 
secure  until,  one  day  at  sunrise,  I  beheld  the  shining  spires 
of  Albany,  and  humdreds  of  gilded  weather-cocks  all  shining  me  a 
welcome. 

But  in  Albany  streets  I  encountered  silent  people  who  looked 
upon  me  with  no  welcome  in  their  haunted  gaze;  and  everywhere 
I  saw  the  same  strange  look, — pinched  faces,  brooding  visages,  a 
strained,  intent  gaze,  yet  vacant  too,  as  though  their  eyes,  which 
looked  at  me,  saw  nothing  save  some  hidden  vision  within  their 
secret  minds. 

I  baited  at  the  Half -Moon ;  and  now  I  learned  for  the  first  what 
anxieties  harassed  these  good  burghers  of  the  old  Dutch  city. 
For  rumour  had  come  the  night  before  on  the  heels  of  a  gal- 
loping light-horseman,  that  Sir  John  was  expected  to  enter  the 
Valley  by  the  Sacandaga  route;  and  that  already  strange  Indiana 
had  been  seen  near  Askalege. 

How  these  same  rumours  originated  nobody  seemed  to  know. 
The  light  horseman  had  them  from  batteaux-men  at  Schenectady. 
But  who  carried  such  alarming  news  to  the  Queen's  Fort  nobody 
seemed  to  know,  only  that  the  garrison  had  become  feverishly 


"IN  THE  VALLEY"  339 

active,  and  three  small  scouts  were  preparing  to  start  for  Schoharie 
and  Caughnawaga. 

All  this  from  the  landlord,  a  gross,  fat,  speckled  man  who 
trembled  like  a  dish  of  jelly  as  he  told  it. 

But  as  I  went  out  to  climb  into  my  saddle,  leaving  my  samp 
and  morning  draught  untasted,  comes  a-riding  a  gay  company  of 
light  horse,  careless  and  debonaire.  Their  officer  saluted  my 
uniform  and,  as  I  spurred  up  beside  him  and  questioned  him,  he 
smilingly  assured  me  that  the  rumours  had  no  foundation;  that 
if  Sir  John  came  at  all  he  would  surely  arrive  by  the  Susquehannaj 
and  that  our  scouts  would  give  warning  to  the  Valley  in  ampla 
time. 

God  knows  that  what  he  said  comforted  me  somewhat,  yet  I 
did  not  choose  to  lose  any  time  at  breakfast,  either;  so  bought 
me  a  loaf  at  a  bake-shop,  and  ate  as  I  rode  forward. 

At  noon  I  rode  into  the  Queen's  Fort  and  there  fed  Kaya.  I 
saw  no  unusual  activity  there;  none  in  the  town,  none  on  the 
river. 

Officers  of  whom  I  made  inquiry  had  heard  nothing  concerning' 
Sir  John;  did  not  expect  a  raid  from  him  before  autumn  anyway, 
and  vowed  that  General  Sullivan  had  scotched  the  Iroquois  snake 
in  its  den  and  driven  the  fear  o'  God  into  Sir  John  and  the  two 
Butlers  with  the  cannon  at  Chemung. 

As  I  rode  westward  again,  I  saw  all  around  me  men  at  work 
in  the  fields,  plowing  here,  seeding  there,  clearing  brush-fields 
yonder.  There  seemed  to  be  no  dread  among  these  people;  all 
was  calm  as  the  fat  Dutch  cattle  that  stood  belly  deep  in  meadows, 
watching  me  out  o'  gentle,  stupid  eyes  as  I  rode  on  toward 
Caughnawaga. 

A  woman  whom  I  encountered,  and  who  was  driving  geese, 
stopped  to  answer  my  inquiries.  From  her  I  learned  that  Colonel 
Fisher,  at  Caughnawaga,  had  received  a  letter  from  Colonel  Jacob 
Block  six  days  ago,  which  stated  that  Sir  John  Johnson  was 
marching  on  the  Valley.  But  she  assured  me  that  this  news  was 
now  entirely  discredited  by  everybody,  because  on  Sunday  a  week 
ago  Captain  Walter  Vrooman,  of  Guilderland,  had  marched  his 
company  to  Caughnawaga,  but  on  arriving  was  told  he  was  not 
needed,  and  so  continued  on  to  Johnstown. 

I  do  not  know  why  all  these  assurances  from  the  honest  peo- 
ple of  the  Valley  did  not  ease  my  mind. 

Around  me  as  I  rode  all  was  sunny,  still,  and  peaceful,  yet  deep 
in  my  heart  always  I  seemed  to  feel  the  faint  pulse  of  fear  as  I 


340  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

looked  around  me  upon  a  smiling  region  once  familiar  and  upon 
which  I  had  not  laid  eyes  for  nearly  three  whole  years. 

And  my  nearness  to  Penelope,  too,  so  filled  me  with  happy  im- 
patience that  the  last  mile  seemed  a  hundred  leagues  on  the  dusty 
Schenectady  road. 

I  had  just  come  into  view  of  the  first  chimneys  of  Caughna- 
waga,  and  was  riding  by  an  empty  waggon  driven  by  an  old  man, 
when,  very  far  away,  I  heard  a  gun-shot. 

I  drew  bridle  sharply  and  asked  the  man  in  the  waggon  if  he 
also  had  heard  it;  but  his  waggon  rattled  and  he  had  not.  How- 
ever, he  also  pulled  up;  and  we  stood  still,  listening. 

Then,  again,  and  softened  by  distance,  came  another  gun-shot. 

The  old  man  thought  it  might  be  some  farmer  emptying  his 
piece  to  clean  it. 

As  he  spoke,  still  far  away  along  the  river  we  heard  several 
shots  fired  in  rapid  succession. 

With  that,  the  old  man  fetched  a  yell:  "Durn-ding  it!"  he 
screeched,  "if  Sir  John's  in  the  Valley  it  ain't  no  place  for  my 
old  woman  and  me!"  And  he  lashed  his  horses  with  the  reins, 
and  drove  at  a  crazy  gallop  toward  the  distant  firing. 

At  the  same  moment  I  spurred  Kaya,  who  bounded  forward 
over  the  rise  of  land;  and  instantly  I  saw  smoke  in  the  sky  be- 
yond the  Johnstown  Eoad,  and  caught  a  glimpse  of  other  fires  in 
another  direction,  very  near  to  where  should  stand  the  dwellings 
of  Jim  Davis  and  Sampson  Sammons. 

And  now,  seated  by  the  roadside  just  ahead,  I  saw  a  young  man 
whom  I  knew  by  sight,  named  Abe  Veeder;  and  I  pulled  in  my 
horse  and  called  to  him. 

He  would  not  move  or  notice  me,  and  seemed  distracted;  so 
I  spurred  up  to  him  and  caught  him  by  the  shirt  collar.  At 
that  he  jumps  up  in  a  fright,  and: 

"Oh,  Jesus!"  he  bawls,  "Sir  John's  red  devils  are  murdering 
everybody  from  Johnstown  to  the  River!" 

"Where  are  they?"  I  cried.  "Answer  me  and  compose  your- 
self!" 

"Where  are  they?"  he  shrieked.  "Why,  they're  everywhere! 
Lodowick  Putman's  house  is  afire  and  they've  murdered  him  and 
Aaron.  Amasa  Stevens'  house  is  burning,  and  he  hangs  naked 
and  scalped  on  his  garden  fence! 

"They  killed  Billy  Gault  and  that  other  man  from  the  old 
country,  and  they  murdered  Captain  Hansen  in  his  bed,  and  his 
house  is  all  afire !  Everything  in  the  Valley  is  afire !"  he  screamed, 


"IN  THE  VALLEY"  341 

wringing  his  scorched  hands,  "Tribes  Hill  is  burning,  Fisher's 
is  on  fire,  and  the  Colonel  and  John  and  Harmon  all  murdered 
— all  scalped  and  lying  dead  in  the  barn! " 

"Listen  to  me!"  I  cried,  shaking  the  wretched  fellow,  "when 
did  this  happen?  Are  Sir  John's  people  still  here?  Where  are 
they?" 

"It  happened  last  night  and  lasted  after  sunrise  this  morning," 
he  blubbered.  "Everything  is  burning  from  Schoharie  to  the 
Nose,  and  they'll  come  back  and  kill  the  rest  of  us " 

I  flung  him  aside,  struck  spurs,  and  galloped  for  Cayadutta 
Lodge. 

Everywhere  I  looked  I  saw  smoke;  barns  were  but  heaps  of 
live  coals,  houses  marked  only  by  charred  cellars  out  of  which 
flames  leaped. 

Yet,  I  saw  the  church  still  standing,  and  Dr.  Romeyn's  par- 
sonage still  intact,  though  all  doors  and  windows  stood  wide  open 
and  bedding  and  broken  furniture  lay  scattered  over  the  grass. 

But  Adam  Fonda's  house  was  burning  and  the  dweEing  of 
Major  Jelles  was  on  fire ;  and  now  I  caught  sight  of  Douw  Fonda's 
great  stone  house,  with  its  two  wings  and  tall  chimneys  of  hewn 
stone. 

It  was  not  burning,  but  shutters  hung  from  their  hinges,  win- 
dow glass  was  shattered,  doors  smashed  in,  and  all  over  the  tram- 
pled garden  and  lawn  lay  a  debris  of  broken  furniture,  tattered 
books,  bedding,  fragments  of  fine  china  and  torn  garments. 

And  there,  face  downward  on  the  bloody  grass,  lay  old  Dou\* 
Fonda,  his  aged  skull  split  to  the  backbone,  his  scalp  gone. 

Such  a  sick  horror  seized  me  that  I  reeled  in  my  saddle  and 
the  world  grew  dark  before  my  eyes  for  a  moment. 

But  my  mind  cleared  again  and  my  eyes,  also;  and  I  sat  my 
horse,  pistol  in  hand,  searching  the  desolation  about  rne  for  a 
sign  of  aught  that  remained  alive  in  this  awful  spot. 

I  heard  no  more  gunshots  up  the  river.  The  silence  was  ter- 
rible. 

At  length,  ill  with  fear,  I  got  out  of  my  saddle  and  led  Kaya 
to  the  shattered  gate  and  there  tied  her. 

Then  I  entered  that  ruined  mansion  to  search  it  for  what  I 
feared  most  horribly  to  discover, — searched  every  room,  every 
closet,  every  corner  from  attic  to  cellar.  And  then  came  out  and 
took  my  horse  by  the  bridle. 

For  there  was  nobody  within  the  house,  living  or  dead — no 
sign  of  death  anywhere  save  there  on  the  grass,  where  that  poor 
corpse  lay,  a  grotesque  thing  sprawling  indecently  in  its  blood. 


342  THE  LITTL3  RED  FOOT 

Then,  as  I  stood  there,  a  man  appeared,  slinking  up  the  road. 
He  was  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  wore  no  hat,  and  his  face  and  hair 
were  streaked  red  from  a  wet  wound  over  his  left  ear.  He 
carried  a  fire-lock;  and  when  he  discovered  me  in  my  Continental 
uniform  he  swerved  and  shuffled  toward  me,  making  a  hopeless 
gesture  as  he  came  on. 

"They've  all  gone  off,"  he  called  out  to  me,  "green-coats,  red- 
coats and  savages.  I  saw  them  an  hour  since  crossing  the  river 
some  three  miles  ahove.  God!  What  a  harm  have  they  done  U9 
here  on  this  accursed  day!" 

He  crept  nearer  and  stood  close  heside  me  and  looked  down 
at  the  body  of  Douw  Fonda.  But  in  my  overwhelming  grief  I 
no  longer  noticed  him. 

"Why,  sir,"  says  he,  "a  devil  out  o'  hell  would  have  spared  yon- 
der good  old  man.  But  Sir  John's  people  slew  him.  I  saw  him 
die.  I  saw  the  murder  done  with  my  own  eyes." 

Startled  from  my  agonized  reflections,  I  turned  and  gazed  at 
him,  still  stunned  by  the  calamity  which  had  crushed  me. 

"I  say  I  saw  that  old  man  die!"  he  repeated  shrilly.  "I  saw 
them  scalp  him,  too !" 

I  summoned  all  my  courage:  "Did — did  you  know  Penelope 
Grant?" 

"Aye." 

"Is — is  she  dead?"  I  whispered. 

"I  think  she  is,  sir.  Listen,  sir:  I  am  Jan  Myndert,  Bouw- 
Meester  to  Douw  Fonda.  I  saw  Mistress  Grant  this  morning. 
It  was  after  sunrise  and  our  servants  and  black  slaves  had  been 
long  a-stirring,  and  soupaan  a-cooking,  and  none  dreamed  of  any 
trouble.  No,  sir!  Why — God  help  us  all! — the  black  wenches 
were  at  their  Monday  washing,  and  the  farm  bell  was  ringing, 
and  I  was  at  the  new  barrack  a-sorting  out  seed. 

"And  the  old  gentleman,  he  was  up  and  dressed  and  supped 
his  porridge  along  with  me,  sir;  for  he  rose  always  with  the  sun, 
sir,  feeble  though  he  seemed. 

"I "   he  passed    a   cinder-blackened   hand   across   his   hair; 

drew  it  away  red  and  sticky;  stood  gazing  at  the  stain  with  a  stu- 
pid air  until  I  could  not  endure  his  silence;  and  burst  out: 

"Where  did  you  last  see  Mistress  Grant?" 

But  my  violence  confused  him,  and  it  seemed  difficult  for  him 
to  speak  when  finally  he  found  voice  at  all: 

"Sir — as  I  have  told  you,  I  had  been  sorting  seeds  for  early 
planting,  in  the  barracks,"  he  said  tremulously,  "and  I  was  walk- 


"IN  THE  VALLEY"  343 

ing,  as  I  remember,  toward  the  house,  when,  of  a  sudden,  I  heard 
musket-firing  toward  Johnstown,  and  not  very  far  distant. 

"With  that  comes  a  sound  of  galloping  and  rattle  o'  wheels, 
and  I  see  Barent  Wemple  standing  up  in  his  red-painted  farm 
•waggon,  and  whipping  his  fine  colts,  and  a  keg  o'  rum  bouncing 
behind  him  in  the  waggon-box, — which  rolled  off  as  the  horses 
reached  the  river — and  galloped  into  it — them  two  colts,  sir, — 
breast  deep  in  the  river! 

"Then  I  shouts  down  to  him:  'Barent!  Barent!  Is  it  them 
red  devils  of  Sir  John?  Or  why  be  you  in  such  a  God-a'mighty 
hurry?' 

"But  Barent  he  is  too  busy  cutting  his  traces  to  notice  me; 
and  up  onto  one  o'  the  colts  he  jumps  and  seizes  t'other  by  the 
head,  and  away  across  the  shoals,  leaving  his  new  red  waggon, 
there  in  the  water,  hub-deep. 

"Then  I  run  to  the  house  and  I  fall  to  shouting:  1x)ok  out! 
Look  out!  Sir  John  is  in  the  Yalley!'  And  then  I  run  to  the 
house,  where  my  gun  stands,  and  where  the  black  boys  and 
•wenches  are  all  a-screeching  and  a-praying. 

"Somebody  calls  out  that  Captain  Fisher's  house  is  on  fire; 
and  then,  of  a  sudden,  I  see  a  flock  o'  naked,  whooping  devila 
come  leaping  down  the  road. 

"Then,  sir,  I  saw  Mistress  Grant  in  her  shift  come  out  in  the 
dew  and  stand  yonder  in  her  bare  feet,  a-looking  across  at  them 
red  devils,  bounding  and  leaping  about  the  Fisher  place. 

"Then,  out  o'  the  house  toddles  Douw  Fonda  with  his  gold 
headed  cane  and  his  favorite  book.  Sir,  though  the  poor  old 
gentleman  was  childish,  he  still  knew  an  Indian  when  he  saw 
one.  'Fetch  me  a  gun!'  he  cries.  1  take  command  here!'  And 
then  he  sees  Mistress  Grant,  and  he  pipes  out  in  his  cracked 
voice:  'Stand  your  ground,  Penelope!  Have  no  fear,  my  child. 
I  command  this  post !  I  will  protect  you !' 

"The  green-coats  and  savages  were  now  swarming  around  the 
house  of  Major  Jelles,  whooping  and  yelling  and  capering  and 
firing  off  their  guns.  Bang-bang-bang !  Jesus !  the  noise  of  their 
musketry  stopped  your  ears. 

"Then  Mistress  Grant  she  took  the  old  gentleman  by  the  arm 
and  was  begraing  him  to  go  with  her  through  the  orchard,  where 
we  now  could  see  Mrs.  Romeyn  running  up  the  hill  and  carrying 
her  two  little  children  in  her  arms. 

"I  also  went  to  Mr.  Fonda  and  took  him  by  the  other  arm,  but 
lie  walked  with  us  only  to  the  porch  and  there  seized  my  gun 
that  I  had  left  there. 


344  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

"'Stand  fast,  Penelope!'  he  pipes  up,  'I  will  defend  your  life 
and  honour !'  And  further  he  would  not  budge,  but  turns  mulish, 
yet  too  feeble  to  lift  the  gun  he  clung  to  with  a  grip  I  could  not 
loosen  lest  I  break  his  bones. 

"We  got  him,  with  his  gun  a-dragging,  into  the  house,  but 
could  force  him  no  farther,  for  he  resisted  and  reproached  me, 
demanding  that  I  stand  and  face  the  enemy. 

"At  that,  through  the  window  of  the  library  wing  I  see  a  body 
of  green-coats, — some  three  hundred  or  better, — marching  down 
the  Schenectady  road.  And  some  score  of  these,  and  as  many 
Indians,  were  leaving  the  Major's  house,  which  they  had  fired; 
and  now  all  began  to  run  toward  us,  firing  off  their  muskets  at 
our  house  as  they  came  on. 

"I  was  grazed,  as  you  see,  sir,  and  the  blow  dashed  out  my 
senses  for  a  moment.  But  when  I  came  alive  I  found  I  had 
fallen  beside  the  wainscot  of  the  east  wall,  where  is  a  secret 
spring  panel  made  for  Mr.  Fonda's  best  books.  My  fall  jarred 
it  open;  and  into  this  closet  I  crawled;  and  the  next  moment  the 
library  was  filled  with  the  trample  of  yelling  men. 

"I  heard  Mistress  Grant  give  a  kind  of  choking  cry,  and, 
through  the  crack  of  the  wainscot  door,  I  saw  a  green-coat  put 
one  hand  over  her  mouth  and  hold  her,  cursing  her  for  a  rebel 
slut  and  telling  her  to  hush  her  damned  head  or  he'd  do  the 
proper  business  for  her. 

"An  Indian  I  knew,  called  Quider,  and  having  only  one  arm, 
took  hold  of  Mr.  Fonda  and  led  him  from  the  library  and  out  to 
the  lawn,  where  I  could  see  them  both  through  the  west  window. 
The  Indian  acted  kind  to  the  old  gentleman,  gave  him  his  hat 
and  his  book  and  cane,  and  conducted  him  south  across  the  lawn. 
I  could  see  it  all  plainly  through  the  wainscot  crack. 

"Then,  of  a  sudden,  the  one-armed  Indian  swung  his  hatchet 
and  clove  that  helpless  and  bewildered  old  man  clean  down  to 
his  neck  cloth.  And  there,  before  all  assembled,  he  took  the  old 
man's  few  white  hairs  for  a  scalp ! 

"Then  a  green-coat  called  out  to  ask  why  he  had  slain  such 
an  old  and  feeble  man,  who  had  often  befriended  him;  and  the 
one-armed  Indian,  Quider,  replied  that  if  he  hadn't  killed  Douw  . 
Fonda  somebody  else  might  have  done  so,   and  so  he,   Quider, 
thought  he'd  do  it  and  get  the  scalp-bounty  for  himself. 

"And  all  this  time  the  Indians  and  green-coats  were  running 
like  wild  wolves  all  over  the  house,  stealing,  destroying,  yelling, 
flinging  out  books  from  the  library  shelves,  ripping  off  curtains 


"IN  THE  VALLEY"  345 

and  bed-covers,  flinging  linen  from  chests,  throwing  crockery 
about,  and  keeping  up  a  continual  screeching. 

"Sir,  I  do  not  know  why  they  did  not  set  fire  to  the  house.  I 
do  not  know  how  my  hiding  place  remained  unnoticed. 

"From  where  I  kneeled  on  the  closet  floor,  and  my  face  all  over 
blood,  I  could  see  Mistress  Grant  across  the  room,  sitting  on  a 
sofa,  whither  the  cursing  green-coat  had  flung  her.  She  was 
deathly  white  but  calm,  and  did  not  seem  afraid;  and  she  an- 
swered the  filthy  beasts  coolly  enough  when  they  addressed  her. 

"Then  a  big  chair,  which  they  had  ripped  up  to  look  for  money, 
was  pushed  against  my  closet,  and  the  back  of  it  closed  the  wain- 
scot crack,  so  that  I  could  no  longer  see  Mistress  Grant. 

"And  that  is  all  I  know,  sir.  For  the  firing  began  again 
outside;  they  all  ran  out,  and  when  I  dared  creep  forth  Mistress 
Grant  was  gone.  .  .  .  And  I  lay  still  for  a  time,  and  then  found 
a  jug  o'  rum.  When  I  could  stand  up  I  followed  the  destruc- 
tives at  a  distance.  And,  an  hour  since,  I  saw  the  last  stragglera 
crossing  the  river  rifts  some  three  miles  above  us.  .  .  .  And  that 
is  all,  I  think,  sir." 

And  that  was  all.  .  .  .  The  end  of  all  things.  ...  Or  so  it 
seemed  to  me. 

For  now  I  cared  no  longer  for  life.  The  world  had  become 
horrible;  the  bright  sunshine  seemed  a  monstrous  sacrilege  where 
it  blazed  down,  unveiling  every  detail  of  this  ghastly  Golgotha 
— this  valley  in  ashes  now  made  sacred  by  my  dear  love's  mar- 
tyrdom. Slowly  I  looked  around  me,  still  stupefied,  helpless,  not 
knowing  where  to  seek  my  dead,  which  way  to  turn. 

And  now  my  dulled  gaze  became  fixed  upon  the  glittering 
river,  where  something  was  moving.  .  .  .  And  presently  I  real- 
ized it  was  a  batteau,  poled  slowly  shoreward  by  two  tall  rifle- 
men in  their  fringes. 

"Holloa !  you  captain-mon  out  yonder !"  bawled  one  o'  them, 
his  great  voice  coming  to  me  through  his  hollowed  hand. 

Leading  my  horse  I  walked  toward  them  as  in  a  fieiy  night- 
mare, and  the  sun  but  a  vast  and  dancing  blaze  in  my  burning 
eyes.  One  of  the  riflemen  leaped  ashore: 

"Is  anny  wan  alive  in  this  place?"  he  began  loudly;  then: 
"Jasus!  It's  Captain  Drogue.  F'r  the  love  o'  God,  asthorel 
Are  they  all  dead  entirely  in  Caughnawaga,  savin'  yourself,  sorr, 
4an'  the  Dominie's  wife  an'  childer,  an'  the  yellow-haired  lass  o' 
Douw  Fonda " 


346  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

I  caught  him  by  the  rifle-cape.  My  clutch  shook  him;  and 
I  was  shaking,  too,  so  I  could  not  pronounce  clearly : 

"Where  is  Penelope  Grant?"  I  stammered.  "Where  did  you 
see  her,  Tim  Murphy?" 

"Who's  that?"  he  demanded,  striving  to  loosen  my  grip.  "Ah, 
the  poor  lad,  he's  crazy!  Lave  me  loose,  avicl  Is  it  the  yellow- 
haired  lass  ye  ask  for?" 

"Yes — where  is  she?" 

"God  be  good  to  you,  Jack  Drogue,  she's  on  the  hill  yonder 

•with  Mrs.  Romeyn  an'  the  two  childer! "     He  took  my  arm, 

turned  me  partly  around,  and  pointed: 

"D'ye  mind  the  pine?  The  big  wan,  I  mean,  betchune  the  two 
ellums  ?  'Twas  an  hour  since  that  we  seen  her  foreninst  the 
pine-tree  yonder,  an'  the  Romeyn  childer  hidin'  their  faces  in 
her  skirt " 

I  swung  my  horse  and  flung  myself  across  the  saddle. 

"She's  safe,  I  warrant,"  cried  Murphy,  as  I  rode  off;  "Sir 
John's  divils  was  gone  off  two  hours  whin  we  seen  her  safe  and 
sound  on  the  long  hill!" 

I  galloped  over  the  shattered  fence  which  was  still  afire  where 
the  charred  rails  lay  in  the  grass. 

As  I  spurred  up  the  bank  opposite,  I  caught  sight  of  a  mounted 
officer  on  the  stony  Johnstown  road,  advancing  at  a  trot,  and  be- 
hind him  a  mass  of  sweating  militia  jogging  doggedly  down  hill 
in  a  rattle  of  pebbles  and  dust. 

When  the  mounted  officer  saw  me  he  shouted  through  the  dust- 
cloud  that  Sir  John  had  been  at  the  Hall,  seized  his  plate  and 
papers,  and  a  lot  of  prisoners,  and  had  murdered  innocent  peo- 
ple in  Johnstown  streets. 

Tim  Murphy  and  his  comrade,  Elerson,  also  came  up,  calling 
out  to  the  Johnstown  men  that  they  had  come  from  Schoharie, 
and  that  both  militia  and  Continentals  were  marching  to  the 
Valley. 

There  was  some  cheering.  I  pushed  my  horse  impatiently 
through  the  crowd  and  up  the  hill.  But  a  little  way  farther  on 
the  road  was  choked  with  troops  arriving  on  a  run;  and  they  had 
brought  cohorns  and  their  ammunition  waggon,  and  God  knows 
what! — alas!  too  late  to  oppose  or  punish  the  blood-drenched 
demons  who  had  turned  the  Caughnawaga  Valley  to  a  smoking 
hell. 

Now,  my  horse  was  involved  with  all  these  excited  people,  and 
I,  exasperated,  thought  I  never  should  get  clear  of  the  soldiery 
and  cohorns,  but  at  length  pushed  a  way  through  to  the  woods 


"IN  THE  VALLEY"  347 

on  my  right,  and  spurred  my  mare  into  them  and  among  the 
larger  elms  and  pines  where  sheep  had  pastured,  and  there  was 
less  brush. 

I  could  not  see  the  great  pine  now,  but  thought  I  had  marked 
it  down;  and  so  bore  again  to  the  right,  where  through  the  woods 
I  could  see  a  glimmer  of  sun  along  cleared  land. 

It  was  rocky;  my  horse  slipped  and  I  was  obliged  to  walk 
him  upward  among  stony  places,  where  moss  grew  green  and 
deep. 

And  now,  through  a  fringe  of  saplings,  I  caught  a  glimpse  of 
the  two  elms  and  the  tall  pine  between. 

"Penelope!"  I  cried.     Then  I  saw  her. 

She  was  standing  as  once  she  stood  the  first  time  ever  I  laid 
eyes  on  her.  The  sun  shone  in  her  face  and  made  of  her  yellow 
hair  a  glory.  And  I  saw  her  naked  feet  shining  snow  white, 
ankle  deep  in  the  wet  grass. 

As  though  sun-dazzled  she  drew  one  hand  swiftly  across  her 
eyes  when  I  rode  up,  leaned  over,  and  swung  her  up  into  my  arms. 
And  earth  and  sky  and  air  became  one  vast  and  thrilling  void 
through  which  no  sound  stirred  save  the  wild  beating  of  her 
heart  and  mine. 

Then,  as  from  an  infinite  distance,  came  a  thin  cry,  piercing 
our  still  paradise. 

Her  arms  loosened  on  my  neck;  we  looked  down  as  in  a  dream; 
and  there  were  the  little  Komeyn  children  in  the  grass,  naked 
in  their  shifts,  and  holding  tightly  to  my  stirrup. 

And  now  we  saw  light  horsemen  leading  their  mounts  this  way, 
and  the  poor  Dominie's  lady  carried  on  a  trooper's  saddle,  her 
bare  foot  clinging  to  the  shortened  stirrup. 

Other  troopers  lifted  the  children  to  their  saddles;  a  great 
hubbub  began  below  us  along  the  Schenectady  highway,  where 
I  now  heard  drums  and  the  shrill  marching  music  of  an  arriving 
regiment. 

I  reached  behind  me,  unstrapped  my  military  mantle,  clasped 
it  around  Penelope,  swathed  her  body  warmly,  and  linked  up 
the  chain.  Then  I  touched  Kaya  with  my  left  knee — she  guid- 
ing left  at  such  slight  pressure — and  we  rode  slowly  over  the 
sheep  pasture  and  then  along  the  sheep-walk,  westward  until  we 
arrived  at  the  bars.  The  bars  were  down  and  lay  scattered  over 
the  grass.  And  thus  we  came  quietly  out  into  the  Johnstown  road. 
4  So  still  lay  Penelope  in  my  arms  that  I  thought,  at  times,  she 
Tras  asleep;  but  ever,  as  I  bent  over  her,  her  dark  eyes  unclosed, 
gazing  up  at  me  in  tragic  silence. 


348  THE  LITTLE  RED  FOOT 

Cautiously  we  advanced  along  the  Johnstown  road,  Kaya  canter- 
ing where  the  way  was  easy. 

We  passed  ruined  houses,  still  smoking,  but  Penelope  did  not  see 
them.  And  once  I  saw  a  dead  man  lying  near  a  blackened  cel- 
lar; and  a  dead  hound  near  him. 

Long  before  we  came  in  sight  of  Johnstown  I  could  hear  the 
distant  quaver  of  the  tocsin,  where,  on  the  fort,  the  iron  bell 
rang  ceaselessly  its  melancholy  warning. 

And  after  a  while  I  saw  a  spire  above  distant  woods,  and  the 
setting  sun  brilliant  on  gilt  weather-vanes. 

I  bent  over  Penelope:  "We  arrive,"  I  whispered. 

One  little  hand  stole  out  and  drew  aside  the  collar  of  the 
cloak;  and  she  turned  her  head  and  saw  the  roofs  and  chimneys 
shining  red  in  the  westering  sun. 

"Jack,"  she  said  faintly. 

"I  listen,  beloved." 

"Douw  Fonda  is  dead." 

"Hush!    I  know  it,  love." 

"Douw  Fonda  is  with  God  since  sunrise,"  she  whispered. 

"Yes,  I  know.  .  .  .  And  many  others,  too,  Penelope." 

She  shook  her  head  vaguely,  looking  up  at  me  all  the  while. 

"It  came  so  swiftly.  ...  I  was  still  abed.  .  .  .  The  guns  awoke 
me.  .  .  .  And  the  blacks  screaming.  I  ran  to  the  window  of  my 
chamber. 

"A  Continental  soldier  was  driving  an  army  cart  toward  the 
Johnstown  road.  And  I  saw  him  jump  out  of  his  cart,*  cut  his 
traces,  mount,  turn  his  horse,  and  gallop  down  the  valley.  .  .  . 
That  was  the  first  real  fear  that  assailed  me,  when  I  saw  that 
soldier  flee.  ...  I  went  below  immediately;  and  saw  Indians 
near  the  Fisher  place.  .  .  .  But  I  could  not  persuade  Mr.  Fonda 
to  escape  with  me  through  the  orchard.  .  .  .  He  would  not  go, 
Jack — he  would  not  listen  to  me  or  to  the  Bouw-Meester,  who 
also  had  hold  of  him. 

"And  when  we  went  into  the  library  somebody  fired  through 
the  window  and  hit  the  Bouw-Meester.  ...  I  don't  know  what 
happened  to  him  or  where  he  fell.  .  .  .  For  the  next  moment  the 
house  was  full  of  green-coats  and  savages.  .  .  .  They  led  Mr. 
Fonda  out  of  the  house.  .  .  .  An  Indian  killed  him  with  a 
hatchet.  ...  A  green-coat  took  hold  of  me  and  said  he  meant 

*  The  gossipy,  industrious,  and  diverting  historian,  Simms,  whose  account 
of  this  incident  would  seem  to  imply  that  Penelope  Grant  herself  related  it 
to  him,  gives  a  different  version  of  her  testimony.  The  statement  he  offers 
is  signed :  "Mrs.  Penelope  Fortes.  Her  maiden  name  was  Grant."  So  Simms 
may  have  had  it  first  hand. 


"IN  THE  VALLEY"  349 

to  cut  my  throat  for  a  damned  rebel  slut!  But  an  Indian  pushed 
him  away.  .  .  .  They  disputed.  An  officer  of  the  Indian  De- 
partment came  into  the  library  and  told  me  to  go  out  to  the 
orchard  and  escape  if  I  was  able. 

"Then  a  Tory  neighbour  of  ours,  Joseph  Clement,  came  in  and 
shouted  out  in  low  Dutch :  *Laat  de  vervlukten  rabble  starven !'  * 
...  A  green-coat  clubbed  his  musket  to  slay  me,  but  the  Indian 
officer  caught  the  gun  and  called  out  to  me:  <Kun!  Run,  you 
yellow-haired  slut!' 

"But  I  dared  not  stir  to  pass  by  where  Clement  stood  with 
his  gun.  I  caught  up  a  heavy  silver  candle-stick,  broke  the  win- 
dow with  two  blows,  and  leaped  out  into  the  orchard.  .  .  . 
Clement  ran  around  the  house  and  I  saw  him  enter  the  orchard, 
carrying  a  gun  and  looking  for  me;  but  I  lay  very  still  under 
the  lilac  hedge;  and  he  must  have  thought  I  had  run  down  to 
the  river,  for  he  went  off  that  way. 

"Then  I  got  to  my  feet  and  crept  up  the  hill.  .  .  .  And  pres- 
ently saw  Airs.  Eomeyn  and  the  children  toiling  up  the  hill;  and 
helped  her  carry  them.  .  .  .  All  the  morning  we  hid  there  and 
looked  down  at  the  burning  houses.  .  .  .  And  after  a  long  while 
the  firing  grew  more  distant. 

"And  then — and  then — you  came!  My  dear  lord! — my  lover. 
.  .  .  My  own  lover  who  has  come  to  me  at  last!" 

.•  In  Valley  Dutch  :  "Let  tie  accursed  rebel  die!" 


AFTEKMATH 


1KNOW  not  how  it  shall  be  -with  me  and  mine!    In   this 
year  of  our  Lord,  1782,  in  which  I  write,  here  in  the  case- 
mates at  West  Point,  the  war  rages  throughout  the  land,  and 
there  seems  no  end  to  it,  nor  none  likely  that  I  can  see. 

That  horrid  treason  which,  through  God's  mercy,  did  not  ut- 
terly confound  us  and  deliver  this  fortress  to  our  enemy,  still 
seems  to  brood  over  this  calm  river  and  the  frowning  hills  that 
buttress  it,  like  a  low,  dark  cloud. 

But  I  believe,  under  God,  that  our  cause  is  now  clean  purged 
of  all  villainy,  and  all  that  is  sordid,  base,  and  contemptible. 

I  believe,  under  God,  that  we  shall  accomplish  our  freedom 
and  recover  our  ancient  and  English  liberties  in  the  end. 

That  dull  and  German  King,  who  sits  yonder  across  the  water, 
can  never  again  stir  in  any  American  the  faintest  echo  of  that 
allegiance  which  once  all  offered  simply  and  without  question. 

Nor  can  his  fat  jester,  my  Lord  North,  contrive  any  new  pleas- 
antry to  seduce  us,  or  any  new  and  bloody  deviltry  to  make  us 
fear  the  wrath  of  God's  anointed  or  the  monkey  chatter  of  his 
clown. 

For  us,  the  last  king  has  sat  upon  a  throne;  the  last  privilege 
has  been  accorded  to  the  last  and  noble  drone;  the  last  slave's  tax 
has  long  been  paid. 

Yet — and  it  sounds  strange — England  still  seems  home  to  us. 

.  .  .  We  think  of  it  as  home It  is  in  our  blood;  and  I  am 

not  ashamed  to  say  it.  And  I  think  a  hundred  years  may  pass, 
and,  in  our  hearts,  shall  still  remain  deep,  deep,  a  tenderness  for 
that  far,  ocean-severed  home  our  grandsires  knew  as  England. 

I  say  it  spite  o'  the  German  King,  spite  of  his  mad  ministers, 
spite  o'  British  wrath  and  scorn  and  jibes  and  cruelty.  For,  by 
God!  I  believe  that  we  ourselves  who  stand  in  battle  here  are  the 
true  mind  and  heart  and  loins  of  England,  fighting  to  slay  her 
baser  self! 

350 


AFTERMATH  351 

Well,  we  are  here  in  the  Highlands,  my  sweetheart-wife  and  I. 
...  I  who  now  wear  the  regimentals  of  a  Continental  Colonel, 
and  have  a  regiment  as  pretty  as  ever  I  see — though  it  be  not  over- 
strong  in  numbers.  But,  oh,  the  powder  toughened  line  o'  them 
in  their  patched  blue-and-buff !  And  their  bright  bayonets!  Sir, 
I  would  not  boast ;  and  ask  I  pardon  if  it  seems  so.  ... 

Below  us  His  Excellency,  calm,  imperturbable,  holds  in  his 
hand  our  destinies,  juggling  now  with  Sir  Henry  Clinton,  now 
with  my  Lord  Cornwallis,  ae  suits  his  temper  and  his  purpose. 

The  traitor,  Arnold,  ravages  where  he  may;  the  traitor,  Lee, 
sulks  in  retreat;  and  Conway  has  confessed  his  shame;  and  the 
unhappy  braggart,  Gates,  now  mourns  his  laurels,  wears  his  wil- 
lows, and  sits  alone,  a  broken  and  preposterous  man. 

I  think  no  day  passes  but  I  thank  God  for  my  Lord  Stirling, 
for  our  wise  Generals  Greene  and  Knox  and  Wayne,  for  the  gal- 
lant young  Marquis,  so  loved  and  trusted  by  His  Excellency. 

But  war  is  long — oh,  long  and  wearying! — and  a  dismal  and 
vexing  business  for  the  most. 

I,  being  in  garrison  at  this  fortress,  which  is  the  keystone  of 
our  very  liberties,  find  that,  in  barracks  as  in  the  field,  every 
hour  brings  its  anxieties  and  its  harassing  duties. 

Yet,  thank  God,  I  have  some  hours  of  leisure.  .  .  .  And  we 
have  leased  a  pretty  cottage  within  our  works — and  our  two 
children  seem  wondrous  healthy  and  content.  .  .  .  Both  have  yel- 
low hair.  I  wish  they  had  their  mother's  lovely  eyes!  .  .  .  But, 
for  the  rest,  they  have  her  beauty  and  her  health. 

And  shaD,  no  doubt,  inherit  all  the  beauty  of  her  mind  and 
heart. 

Comes  a  soldier  servant  where  I  sit  writing: 

"Sir:  Colonel  Forbes'  lady;  her  compliments  to  Colonel  Forbes, 
and  desires  to  be  informed  how  soon  my  Colonel  will  be  free  to 
drink  a  dish  of  tea  with  my  lady?" 

"Pray  offer  my  compliments  and  profound  respect  to  my  lady, 
Billy,  and  say  that  I  shall  have  the  honour  of  drinking  a  dish  of 
tea  with  my  lady  within  no  more  than  five  amazing  minutes!" 

And  so  he  salutes  and  off  he  goes;  and  I  gather  up  the  sheaf 
of  memoirs  I  have  writ  and  lock  them  in  my  desk  against  an- 
other day. 

And  so  take  leave  of  you,  with  every  kindness,  because  Penelope 
should  not  sit  waiting. 


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